Against it All
by julieanne2012
Summary: Daughter-fic, follows series. It's been almost thirteen years since Sam ran off to Stanford. When Dean needs help finding John, he decides to enlist Sam's help. However, Dean learns that a lot can happen in thirteen years.
1. Beginning

**Chapter I - Beginning**

If Dad had a say in anything, I am sure he would have done everything in his power to prevent the events that lead to the end of my innocence (I am not being overdramatic).

It all started when Uncle Dean broke into our apartment at two AM. Mom and Dad went to some party and they allowed me to have a friend over to watch movies since I thought that dressing up and asking strangers for candy was pretty stupid. At the time, I had no clue it was Uncle Dean, so I automatically assumed the worse and thought that he was some ax-wielding maniac who had a sick addiction to killing innocent teenage girls.

Thank you, stupid horror movies.

So, armed with only a softball bat and a can of hairspray (a damn good weapon, if you ask me), Lily and I tip-toed into the living room. My eyes were glued on "the burglar" as he tried to maneuver around the kitchen in complete darkness.

"Shouldn't we call the police first?" Lily suggested. In many ways, she had a point. However, I was someone who had to take care of the situation myself and couldn't possibly rely on someone else to do a good of job as I. Besides, we had just finished watching _Lara Croft: Tomb Raider_ so I felt like a heroine in my own action-filled movie (hey, a girl can dream).

"Let's get him out first, then we'll call," I said. It seemed like the "Lara" thing to do. Now, if only I could get an action sequence in an awesome mansion with a totally hot antagonist.

"Okay, here's the plan," I whispered to Lily. "I'm gonna jump him and spray him in the eyes with this," I motioned towards the hairspray. "Then you're gonna hit him in the head and—hopefully—knock him out."

"Do you know how stupid that plan is?" Lily inquired. "How about we hide in a closet and call 911."

"He could leave before they got here," I countered. "It would be better if we surprise him and—" the "aw shit" look on Lily's face made me freeze midsentence "—he's right behind me, isn't he?"

Lily nodded.

Before the man could have the first move, I turned sharply and sprayed his face with my hairspray. I didn't get him directly in the eyes like I hoped (he was shorter than I suspected), but he still staggered back, moaning in pain. Not even waiting for Lily to make her move, I kicked the man in the jewels.

Knowing that we had him down, I flipped on the overhead light. I looked down at the man and immediately recognized him as my uncle, Dean. He didn't look much different from the dated picture of my Dad's—mostly just older.

"God," Uncle Dean muttered, "what the hell is wrong with you?" His voice cracked from the pain.

"I'm sorry," I said, attempting to help him onto the couch. He flinched away from my touch, like I was going to punch him or something.

"Okay…now I'm confused," Lily said, looking between me and Uncle Dean. "Do you know him or something?"

"Yeah, he's my uncle."

"Wait…_uncle_?" Uncle Dean asked. If it was even possible, he seemed even more confused. "Who are you?"

I swallowed hard. Uncle Dean didn't know who I was. Then again, Dad hasn't contacted his family in fourteen years. I shouldn't have been surprised—but I was.

"Liz," I said. Dean was still confused, so I elaborated. "Sam's daughter."

A moment passed before Uncle Dean broke the silence. "What the hell? Are you telling me that I'm an _uncle_?"

_Nah, I'm just busting your balls. I am just a random chick who just happens to be living with your brother and his wife. I am just calling you "uncle" to screw with your head. Sorry 'bout that._

"Yeah, I guess I am." That was a stupid statement.

"You know, you look like a female version of Sam." Despite everything that had just happened, he chuckled. "So, pretty much Sammy."

I just chuckled dryly out of awkwardness. This was certainly a hell of a way to spend Halloween. And to think I would have missed this if I went out.

"Well…as touching as this moment is…I think I'll get going." Despite the fact that it was the middle of the night and she didn't even bother to get any of her things, Lily rushed out the door and didn't even bother to close the door behind her.

Seconds later, Mom and Dad appeared at the doorway, studying the direction where Lily had just disappeared from. "What the hell is with Sa—" Dad froze midsentence, his gaze now transfixed on Uncle Dean.

"Hey, Sammy," Uncle Dean said, beaming up at his brother who he hasn't seen in a decade-and-a-half.

To say that an awkward silence filled the room would be a major understatement. The silence was as thick as fog that gagged us and prevented us from even thinking of something to say. Well, that is how I felt, anyway.

"Dean…what are you doing here and why are your eyes red?"

"Nice to see you to," Dean muttered, obviously annoyed at Dad. "Oh, and at least you trained your daughter to handle burglars."

Dad's nostrils flared anger, like they always do when he gets pissed. I have only seen this happen a handful of times—many of which I have caused.

"Look, can I talk to you for a sec…_alone_." Uncle Dean emphasized the last word.

"Whatever you need to say you can say in front of Jess and Liz." Dad put a protective arm around Mom in an _I dare you to question me_ sort of way. I just hung back towards the back wall, feeling really awkward about this situation.

Uncle Dean shrugged. "Okay, whatever you say, Sammy." He was instantly serious. "Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

"So, he's working overtime on a Miller time shift," Dad said. Okay…that just made no sense to me. What the hell is a Miller time shift? "He'll stumble back sooner or later."

"Lemme clarify. Dad's on a _hunting _trip and he hasn't been home in a few days."

Something in Dad's face changed, but I couldn't really identify what it was. "Excuse us," he said, "we have to go outside."

Dad and Uncle Dean left, leaving Mom and me in their awkward wake.

"Well, that was…interesting," Mom said, obviously trying to get rid of the awkwardness. "So…did you really attack him with hairspray?"

"Lily had a softball bat, if that helps," I said, giving Mom my best innocent smile.

She just shook her head. "I just wish I knew what the hell is going on all of a sudden."

"You and me both," I muttered as she walked into her bedroom. "You and me both."

Once Mom was out of earshot, I left our apartment and silently followed Dad and Uncle Dean.

"I swore I was done for good," Dad said. I couldn't see them, but their voices carried through the tiled stairwell. They also weren't trying to keep their voices low.

"C'mon, it wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad," Uncle Dean argued.

"How can you say that? You were there! Do you remember when I told Dad when I was scared of the thing in my closet? He gave me a .45."

"Well what was he supposed to do?"

"I was nine. Years. Old. He was supposed to say 'Don't be afraid of the dark'."

"Don't be afraid of the dark," Uncle Dean mocked. "What, are you kidding me? Of course you should be afraid of the dark! You know what's out there!"

Okay, if I wasn't freaking out before, I was scared shitless. The way they talked, it made them sound like madmen who think that monsters exist. Dad taught me at a young age that monsters like vampires and werewolves don't exist. Was he lying to me this whole time?

"Yeah, I know. But, still—the way we grew up after Mom was killed, and dad's obsession to find the thing that killed her! But we still haven't found the damn thing, so we kill everything we find!"

Yep, he was lying to me.

"Save a lot of people doing it too." Uncle Dean seemed proud about that feat. And, yeah, I would be too. Of course, I still had no clue on what kind of saving they did. Maybe they were like Supermen or something. That would be pretty cool.

"You think Mom would have wanted this for us?" Dad and Uncle Dean stepped outside and I didn't make it to the door in time. It closed with an audible click and I was afraid of opening it in fear that they would hear it.

Curiosity filled every crevice in my mind as I wandered back up the stairs. It honestly felt like a millennium ago when Uncle Dean first broke into the apartment. I also felt a millennium older, as well.

I walked into the apartment just as Mom stepped out of her room, dressed in some pajamas. She didn't notice my disappearance. I contemplated the idea of telling Mom what I overheard Uncle Dean and Dad talking about. However, I'd rather not explain how I totally eavesdropped on them.

A few minutes later, Dad walked back into the apartment, looking rather pissed off (even more so than earlier).

"What's going on?" I asked him, half-hoping that he would explain. He just walked past me and into his bedroom, Mom close on his heels. I was about to follow them, but they closed the door on my face. Being careful not to push too hard on the door, I leaned an ear against it. If I focused, I could hear them talking.

"Wait…you're taking off?" Mom sounded surreal.  
>"Is this about your dad? Is he all right?"<p>

"Yeah, you know, just a little family drama."

I could tell Dad was lying. It wasn't the way he talked, since he was damn good at hiding his emotions, but it was like I just knew that he was lying.

"But your brother said he was on some kind of hunting trip," Mom said, trying to clarify what she meant.

"Uh…yeah. He's just deer hunting up at the cabin," Dad explained. In a bitter voice, he added, "he's probably got Jim, Jack and Jose along with him. We're just gonna go bring him back."

"What about the job interview? You have been waiting for this opportunity with the execs for months. You might finally be able to get out of that damn cubical."

"I'll make the interview," Dad assured. If it weren't for the nagging feeling I had, I would have believed him too. "This is only for a couple of days."

I heard the shuffling of footsteps heading towards the door and I made a mad dash into my room. I jumped onto my bed and pressed the play button on my remote.

Dad knocked softly on my doorframe. "Can I come in, kiddo?"

"Yeah," I said, pausing the movie again.

Dad sat at the edge of my bed. "I want to apologize for Dean. He doesn't normally do things by the book."

I shrugged. "It was an adventure," I said, trying to shrug it off.

Dad saw past my veil and gave me "the look". "Liz, you can tell me if it bothered you. I didn't like him showing up at two AM unannounced either."

Despite the fact that Dad gave me an open invitation into admit my true thoughts and feelings, I kept up the façade. "It's fine," I said. "But, I should probably check on Lily. I think it really freaked her out."

Dad laughed softly, but he tapered off before too long. "I know this is sudden, but I'm going with Dean for a few days. Our Dad is in a spot of trouble and we just need to drag him back to sober-land."

I nodded in response. I wanted to tell him that I eavesdropped on him and Uncle Dean, but I didn't have the nerve to do so. I might have been exploding with questions, but Dad had enough on his plate right now to deal with me.

"When will you be back?" I asked.

"Before Monday," he assured.

After our goodbyes, Dad left.

**-SPN- SPN- -SPN-**

"Has Dad called yet?" I asked Mom for the umpteenth time this weekend. For the umpteenth time, she said no. For the umpteenth time, I felt like my nerves were going to explode.

By Sunday night, I felt like killing someone…particularly Uncle Dean. If it weren't for him, none of this would have happened.

I decided to go to bed early, much to Mom's disappointment. I have noticed that Mom and I really have nothing in common. It is usually Dad who keeps us a family. If something happened to him…I dunno what Mom and I would do. We'd probably end up killing each other.

I laid there in the dark for a couple of hours, listening to the distant rumble of the television Mom was watching. Eventually, that turned off and I was left with the eerie silence of an all-too quiet house.

Eventually, I felt myself begin to doze off. I was almost in dreamland when all hell broke loose.

I felt Mom's fear before I heard her screams. I was out of my bed in a flash and ran into her room. In the dim light, I saw Mom pinned to the ceiling, blood collecting in her nightgown. Her eyes were wide, but lifeless.

I was about to cry for help, but some invisible force threw me into the wall. I didn't notice the shadowed man in the corner until he spoke.

"Mary Elizabeth Winchester," he said in an oddly tantalizing voice. "Such a pretty name for such a pretty girl."

"Shut up," I was somehow able to shout.

I gagged on my own breath as if a hand was pushing down on my throat. I could barely breathe, let alone form any sort of speech sounds.

"What, a cute girl like you doesn't like compliments?" The man stepped out of the corner and into the dim light of the moon. Even in the dull lighting, I could still see his glowing yellow eyes that sent shivers down my back.

"You are probably wondering why your mother is dead on the ceiling and why I am here," the yellow eyed freak said. "Well…it is just all part of my master plan that includes your father."

I struggled against the invisible bonds. I wanted this nightmare to end. I want to wake up in my room with Mom and Dad asleep in their room. Maybe if I am extra lucky, that whole thing with Uncle Dean and hearing what Dad's childhood was like was just all part of the dream too.

"When my other children try to have kids, I make sure something happens so that those children aren't born. But, you," the yellow eyed freak pointed directly at me, "I decided to let you live. You were an…experiment, of sorts. I didn't know what could possible happen, but you are something else."

The yellow eyed freak walked right up to me and looked directly into my eyes. "I hope you understand that killing your mommy, in the long run, will be better for you and your daddy."

I wanted to say something, but I couldn't make a sound. Damn freak.

Somewhere in the living room, I heard a door open and close. The yellow eyed freak smiled menacingly. "It seems that Daddy is home sooner than expected." He turned his attention back towards me. "I hope to see you real soon." With that, the freak vanished.

Dad walked into the room. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that Mom was dead on the ceiling and that I was pinned to the freaking wall. Dad hopped onto the bed and sighed in relief.

I watched as a single droplet of blood fell from Mom's abdomen. Dad twitched, but obviously didn't think much of it. When more poured down, Dad opened his eyes.

"NO!" he cried, backing up farther into the bed. Mom burst into flame and, in a matter of seconds, the entire ceiling was engulfed by fire.

With a loud thump, I fell to the ground. I coughed loudly from the smoke. I looked up at Dad who was still transfixed on Mom.

"Dad," I shouted in a hoarse voice. Uncle Dean burst into the room and only took a split second to rush into action.

"C'mon, Sammy," Uncle Dean said, trying to pull Dad off the bed. Dad automatically obeyed.

I stood up and followed Uncle Dean and Dad out of the apartment. I could already hear sirens in the distance as we rushed outside. In a matter of minutes, fire trucks and police cars surrounded us as the apartment building burned.

I didn't know how long it was, but everything just felt like a blur. It could have been minutes or it could have been hours.

Somehow, I found myself standing next to Dad and Uncle Dean, who were doing something in the back of Uncle Dean's car. Dad was toying with something, but I couldn't tell what.

Dad threw something in the back of the truck with a disgruntled sigh. He slammed the trunk shut and said, "We have work to do."


	2. Rules

**Chapter II - Rules**

It felt weird sitting in the back of Uncle Dean's black 1967 Chevy Impala. At the time, I had no idea that this was going to be my home. I just thought…well, I dunno what I thought this was. I could barely think about the simple things like breathing let alone any sort of coherent thought.

Dad and Uncle Dean sat in the front, with Uncle Dean driving. Dad's eyes were focused on the road ahead, but his mind was a million miles away. He probably wouldn't even notice a purple octopus in a tuxedo doing the tango in the middle of the road.

It felt like centuries had passed since we left Mom's funeral. I barely remember any of it. I just remember standing next to Dad while people I barely knew came up to us and gave us their condolences. It was more awkward than anything else. But, watching them lower the empty casket into the ground was the worst. It made it official on what I saw. It made it official that Mom was dead and that there was no way of bringing her back.

After the funeral, Uncle Dean, Dad and I immediately hit the road with no explanation at all. Well, I didn't get an explanation. I'm sure Uncle Dean and Dad knew exactly where we were going, but I was totally out of the loop.

"So…" Uncle Dean said, breaking the tense silence that filled the car, "how about some music?" He turned on the stereo and _Metallica_ filled the empty void.

"Really?" I muttered under my breath. My intention was not for Uncle Dean to hear, but—as I have learned—he has ears like a hawk.

"Um, I'm sorry, but do you have a problem with my taste in music?"

"Yeah, I do," I said, plainly. "For one thing, you need a frickin' cassette player to listen to it and, second, there is this thing called the finer arts."

"'The finer arts'," Uncle Dean mocked. "What could be finer than this?" He pointed to his stereo.

Dad groaned, knowing well that a full-on Broadway rant was in the works. "Well, for one thing, does it cover political and social issues in the early 1990s like _RENT_ or does it show the immoral justice of choosing to exploit the material things that comes out selling your body for sex over following your heart into true love?"

Uncle Dean, via the rearview mirror, gave me a look of utter disbelief. "What the hell is that crazy chick talking about?"

"Just smile and nod, that's what I do," Dad said, chuckling slightly.

"Okay, rule number one, Lizzie: no dissing my music…or my baby, for that matter." Uncle Dean patted the dashboard affectionately.

"Rule number two: Don't call me 'Lizzie'," I added, crossing my arms in annoyance.

"Rule number three: I can call you whatever I want to call you."

"Okay, seriously, Dean?" Dad looked at Uncle Dean. Uncle Dean's expression immediately sobered up and he turned his attention back to the road. It seemed that, in just one glance, they just _knew_ what each other wanted to say. They seemed to be more in tuned with each other than an old married couple.

"Look, Liz…" Dad said, immediately tapering off. Despite the fact that I was willing to bite someone's head off to get information, I patiently waited for Dad to say what he needed to say at his own time. In the back of my mind, I knew that the last thing Dad needed right now was a nagging teenager (well, almost a teenager) begging for information. "You probably have a lot of questions—" no shit, Sherlock! "but, you just need to hear me out for a second."

"Dad, it's okay, I understand—"

"You may think that," Dad interrupted, "but you really, _really _don't."

I immediately clamped my mouth shut. The look on Dad's face could literally make a grown man cry. It was a mixture of hurt, longing and…fear? I think there is some fear in the mix. What kind of fear, I wasn't so sure about. Fear of the unknown? Fear of loss? I don't know exactly which.

"When I was a baby, my mom," Dad choked back a sob, "was killed much like your mom." _My Jessica_. I didn't know where that thought came from, but it sounded a lot like some Dad would say. In fact, it kind of sounded like him saying it. "We just…don't know what."

I remained impassive.

"Do you remember anything from that night?" Uncle Dean asked.

I was about to reply, but Dad saying, "Dean!" in a warning voice cut me off.

"Look, Sam, face it. Your daughter saw something that could help Dad out in his search."

"It's not just Dad's search, you know."

"Yeah, well, try convincing him of that."

"I am not going to force my daughter to relive that night."

Almost like an explosion, I was bombarded by emotions. Anger, hatred, confusion…all powerful emotions hitting me like an out-of-control semi—and it hurt like one, too. At the time, I had no clue where all of these emotions were coming from. Now, I realize, they were all from Dad and Uncle Dean from their heated argument.

"You okay, Liz?" Dad asked, turning around in his seat to face me. I didn't realize I had my head buried in my hands until I sat up to face him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I lied. "It's just…" come on, come on, think of something, Liz… "Are you trying to tell me that monsters actually exist?"

Nice save.

Dad nodded. "I hoped you would never find out. But, I guess this is what I get for wishful thinking."

"It's sort of a Winchester curse," Uncle Dean explained, much to Dad's annoyance. "I'm just surprised she didn't find out before this."

Dad tried like hell to keep this whole thing away from me, I am sure.

"I guess my hard work paid off…for a while."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up, Sammy…" Uncle Dean tried to cheer Dad up, but he failed.

I decided to take a different approached. "So, um…how do you know that monsters, you know…exist?"

When Dad didn't answer, Uncle Dean did. "We sort of grew up with it. Our Dad—your grandpa, I guess—has a vendetta against the mofo that killed our mom and yours."

"Do you have any idea—"

"No," Uncle Dean answered before I could finish my question. "Which is why I was wondering if you saw anything that might—"

"Dean!"

"Look, I saw a man," I said quickly, before Dad could stop me, "with yellow eyes and he kept on saying that him killing Mom had to happen in order for Dad and I to…something."

"What do you mean by something?" Dad asked.

"I don't know," I admitted. "The yellow-eyed freak said that he had plans for us I just dunno what."

Dad's lips and brow made perfectly parallel lines as he contemplated what I said. I slumped back into the seat, wishing more than anything for this nightmare to end.

"First things first, we need to find Dad," Dad announced.

"No, first things first, we need to go to Colorado." Uncle Dean interjected.

"What's in Colorado?" I asked.

"Whatever Dad is doing has got to be way more important than whatever it is in Colorado," Dad said, completely ignoring me. I have a feeling that this is going to happen a lot.

"Dad wants us to continue with the family business. That's why he left the coordinates and the journal for us. This is our way of helping him. Saving people, killings things. The family business. Or have you forgotten that over the last thirteen years?"

Dad slumped back into his seat, defeated. "Fine. We'll find out what's in Colorado. But I still think we should look for Dad."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The rest of the ride to Colorado was spent in silence. I was lost in my own thoughts as I tried to process everything was going on. I couldn't believe that in a matter of days that my life had turned into...this. Whatever the hell _this_ is.

We made it to Black Ridge, Colorado by midmorning. Uncle Dean parked the Impala outside the ranger station. "Wait here," Dad commanded before him and Uncle Dean climbed out of the muscle car and headed inside.

The silence was literally killing me - but it was either that or Uncle Dean's choice in music. I looked outside at the gray landscape, but nothing much seemed to be happening in this small town. What could be in this town that concerns Dad and Uncle Dean?

Dad and Uncle Dean came back a few minutes later.

"What's up?" I asked.

"You're going to a motel while Dean and I handle a job."

I was baffled. "So...you're just gonna leave me at a motel while you guys run off and do God knows what?"

"Liz..." Dad warned.

"Why can't I go with you guys and learn the-"

"No, you are not going with us."

"But-"

"It's final

"MARY ELIZABETH WINCHESTER, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JUST SHUT UP!"

Even Uncle Dean was scared shitless.

In a calmer voice, Dad continued. "You may think that you can handle this but there are things out there that will not hesitate to kill you. And...and I can't lose you, too."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"Do not leave the room unless it is an emergency," Dad said, immediately laying down the law the moment we got a room. "If you have to leave, make sure you have this on you, but keep it hidden." He handed me a pistol, which I held awkwardly.

"Uh...you do realize I have never held a gun before, let alone used one." I said, clarifying my hesitation towards it. I wasn't completely anti-violence, but I still didn't like the fact that this thing could easily kill someone.

"Tisk, tisk," Uncle Dean muttered, "I'm disappointed in you, Sammy. By the time we were twelve, we were naturals with a gun."

"It's Sam," Dad said, still rather irritated, "and there was no need for it in Palo Alto."

Uncle Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't worry. I'll teach yah when I have a chance."

Dad sighed, but he didn't openly disapprove of Uncle Dean teaching me how to use a gun. He grabbed the gun back from me and gave me the quick rundown. "Okay, press this and the safety is on. Press it again, and it is off. I'd suggest you keep it off for now, since...well..." he didn't really need to elaborate. "For right now, just shoot to scare. Try not to kill. And watch out for the recoil. It'll hurt like hell if your not prepared for it."

That sounded promising.

"We should be back in a couple of hours," Dad continued. "Try not to cause too much trouble, okay?"

"Fine," I said, jumping onto the bed farthest from the door.

By the door, Dad whispered something to Uncle Dean. Uncle Dean left and Dad strode over to the bed. "Liz, I'm sorry about earlier. It's just-"

"No, don't be," I said. "I was being a brat and I deserved it."

Dad gently kissed my forehead, something he hasn't done in a long time. "I just need you to understand that I never meant for you to be part of this life."

I nodded in understanding. Dad left and I was alone again. I seemed to be fine in the Impala being alone. But being in this sleazy motel room and not knowing where Dad was scared me.

From day one, I was a daddy's girl. I always seemed to connect better with him then I have with Mom. Now, I feel horrible for not trying harder to be closer to Mom. As of now, that is probably my biggest regret.

Dammit. I felt tears beginning to sting my eyes. It still doesn't seem real. The funeral opened my eyes, but it still doesn't feel like she is gone, as if seeing her pinned to the ceiling, eyes wide and her abdomen bleeding never happened. As if watching her burst into flames was just some horror-movie induced nightmare.

I tried to use TV to distract my mind. An episode of _Dr. Sexy_ was on, but that just darkened my already depressing mood. I tried channel surfing, but after the third time around, I gave up and turned it off.

I walked over to my duffle and shifted through the clothes. Aunt Natasha, Mom's sister, helped me shop after the fire. It wasn't much and I was barely paying attention to what I was picking out at the time. I was lucky Aunt Natasha has good taste in fashion.

I dug around until I found my CD player and proceeded to listen to MY choice in music. I laid down on the bed and focused on the music and not my thoughts.

I didn't remember falling asleep. I just remember the nightmare.

_I felt Mom's fear before I heard her screams. I was out of my bed in a flash and ran into her room. In the dim light, I saw Mom pinned to the ceiling, blood collecting in her nightgown. Her eyes were wide, but lifeless._

"No! Not again."

_I was about to cry for help, but some invisible force threw me into the wall. I didn't notice the shadowed man in the corner until he spoke._

"_Mary Elizabeth Winchester," he said in an oddly tantalizing voice. "Such a pretty name for such a pretty girl."_

"Shut up!"

_I gagged on my own breath as if a hand was pushing down on my throat. I could barely breathe, let alone form any sort of speech sounds._

"_What, I cute girl like you doesn't like compliments?" The man stepped out of the corner and into the dim light of the moon. Even in the dull lighting, I could still see his glowing yellow eyes that sent shivers down my back._

"_You are probably wondering why your mother is dead on the ceiling and why I am here," the yellow eyed freak said. "Well…it is just all part of my master plan that includes your father."_

"Please stop!"

_I struggled against the invisible bonds. I wanted this nightmare to end. I want to wake up in my room with Mom and Dad asleep in their room. Maybe if I am extra lucky, that whole thing with Uncle Dean and hearing what Dad's childhood was like was just all part of the dream too._

"_When my other children try to have kids, I make sure something happens so that those children aren't born. But, you," the yellow eyed freak pointed directly at me, "I decided to let you live. You were an…experiment, of sorts. I didn't know what could possible happen, but you are something else."_

_The yellow eyed freak walked right up to me and looked directly into my eyes. "I hope you understand that killing your mommy, in the long run, will be better for you and your daddy."_

"No! Stop it!"

"Hey, Liz, wake up!"

_Somewhere in the living room, I heard a door open and close. The yellow eyed freak smiled menacingly. "It seems that Daddy is home sooner than expected." He turned his attention back towards me. "I hope to see you real soon." With that, the freak vanished._

_Dad walked into the room. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that Mom was dead on the ceiling and that I was pinned to the freaking wall. Dad hopped onto the bed and sighed in relief._

_I watched as a single droplet of blood fell from Mom's abdomen. Dad twitched, but obviously didn't think much of it. When more poured down, Dad opened his eyes._

"NO!"

"Liz..."

_Mom burst into flames and, in a matter of seconds, the entire ceiling was engulfed by fire._

_With a loud thump, I fell to the ground. I coughed loudly from the smoke. I looked up at Dad who was still transfixed on Mom._

"Dad!"

"Lizzie!"

I woke up from the nightmare, coated in cold sweat. Dad and Uncle Dean were hovering over me, both of them looking down at me with concerned look in their eyes.

"What's going on?" I asked. I saw flashes of the nightmare I just witnessed.

"We're hoping you could tell us," Uncle Dean said. "You were shouting 'no' and 'Dad'. What were you dreaming about?"

"About...that night."

I didn't need to elaborate. The looks that flashed across their faces showed understanding.

"Did you want to—"

"Talk about it? No." As I attempted to sit up, a sharp pain shot through my head, making me cringe. "I'd take an Advil, though."

Uncle Dean scurried off and Dad sat down next to me. "Do these nightmares happen often?"

I nodded. "This one seemed to be the most vivid though. And normally I don't talk when I sleep."

I collapsed into a hug with Dad. It wasn't full-out sobbing with snot and all, but just being close seemed to be soothing.

Despite the fact that I had my face buried in Dad's shirt, I could tell that Dean felt uncomfortable watching this father/daughter moment. Cautiously, he cleared his throat. I looked up at him as he handed me a couple Advil and a bottle of water. "Thanks," I mumbled, hesitating to break away from Dad. I accepted the items and took the pills.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Dad asked, the look of concern still swimming in his eyes.

"I'm fine," I said, trying to sound reassuring. "I'm _fine_."


	3. Visitor

_Author's Note: I'm not going to go episode by episode, just going to hit the important ones and others that I have ideas for. This is based off 1.6 Skin with a twist._

**Chapter III - Visitor**

Over the next few weeks, Dad and Uncle Dean focused on the hunts and I tried to stay out of their way...mostly. They had me helping them out with research, but that really isn't my cup of tea. I just don't have the patience to sit at the computer or read a God-awful book for hours on end. But, I didn't openly complain. I've kept my opinions mostly to myself. I didn't even object at Uncle Dean's choice of music. I just learn to grab my CD player. Of course, he has it up so frickin' loud that the only way I can drown it out is to ruin my eardrums.

On top of that, I still have school. Dad found this government website that is designed for homeschooling. It was hard enough to go to school when there was an actually school to go to. But knowing that it would be so easy to just skip that days' lessons and simply play computer games makes it a billion times worse. However, they monitor EVERYTHING and send a report to Dad's private email account.

Also, Uncle Dean and Dad have been training me like crazy. However, as I have unwillingly learned, Dad wants it mostly for self-defense while Uncle Dean is actually considering having me hunt with them. At the time, I knew that would never happen. Dad didn't seem please with the fact that he had to personally teach his daughter how to properly use a gun.

Hand-to-hand combat wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Thanks to my lanky frame, I am able to dodge blows fairly easy. However, actually having to go offense is a whole different matter. According to Uncle Dean, I am just skin and bones - no noticeable muscles. When I try to land one on Uncle Dean, I actually hurt myself more than I had him.

Of course, there are many things that we still have to move onto. Apparently, I have only scratched the surface of what it takes to be a freaking hunter. They're saying it could take me _years_ to fully learn everything I need to know and have the ability to handle whatever comes my way.

Dammit!

I still have the nightmares from 'that night'. After a while, I thought they would stop or, at least, I would get used to them. But, the fact that it's Mom dying over and over again makes it a million times worse. On the bright side (if it's even possible to have one), I don't yell in my sleep like I did the first night of them. I still wake up in cold sweat with a God-awful headache. So, in order to avoid sleep altogether, my blood stream has officially become my caffeine stream. Right now, I am living off the nectar of the gods (coffee) and only sleep when I'm too exhausted to do anything else.

Of course, there was still no escaping the nightmares.

Dad was very openly worried about them. I'm sure it is just a normal thing that happens to people after a traumatic experience. I was willing to bet money (or lack of) that Dad has nightmares about Mom. He'd have to be inhuman not to.

Overall, things were going pretty well, all things considered. It might not be the life I had back at Palo Alto, but it's better than a punch in the pants.

However, I spoke too soon.

I tried keeping up with friends, especially Lily, but it proved to be hard. After the initial shock that I was moving away (they think Dad and I are staying at Uncle Dean's house in Kansas), people began to move on with their lives. Even Lily, who I have been friends with since elementary school, eventually stopped sending me emails.

That is, until today.

I sat in the back of the Impala with my laptop open. I was supposed to be working on schoolwork, but I was getting bored with learning about pre-algebra, so I decided to check my email.

It was from Lily. She was explaining how her uncle from St. Louis was arrested for murdering his girlfriend even though he was with his sister (Lily's mom) at the time of the murder. Apparently, the police have proof on a traffic cam of him coming home just before the murder.

"And I thought my life was screwed up…" I murmured. I spoke so low that I could barely hear myself speak. However, hawk-ears in the driver seat heard me.

"What's screwed up?" Uncle Dean asked.

I explained to him what Lily sent me. He looked genuinely concerned.

"Do you think this is our kind of gig?" I asked him when I was done with the story.

"Lizzie, we cover _monsters_ murdering people. Not _people_ murdering people."

"It's Liz—and I think we should check it out."

"Look, I'm all for you helping us out," Uncle Dean explained. "But, I think you're trying to find a hunt where there isn't one."

I slumped back in my seat. "But…doesn't it seem sketchy."

"Maybe her mom was lying," Uncle Dean argued. "People have been known to lie. Hell, we lie all the friggin' time."

"Riddle me this," I said. "Would you go if Dad suggested it?"

Uncle Dean didn't reply. He stayed focused on the road, his eyes shifting to the rearview mirror occasionally to see my unwavering glare at him.

"I'm done discussing this," Uncle Dean finally said.

"Figures," I muttered, turning my attention to my laptop. I really couldn't focus on schoolwork now, so I decided to do some research. I wasn't going to let Uncle Dean's dismissal bring me down. I am, after all, Sam Winchester's daughter. I can be pretty damn stubborn at times, just like he is famous for being.

On the website with the article about the murder, they had images of the footage from the traffic cameras on the night of the murder. I have only met him a handful of times, but I immediately recognized Lily's Uncle Zach. He looked the same as he did last time I saw him (except older). However, there was something in one of the pictures where Zach had shining white eyes.

I smiled to myself. Granted, this is a horrible thing. But this just proves that this is no ordinary murder case. I was going to watch Uncle Dean eat his words.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

When Uncle Dean stopped for gas, I showed him the picture.

"I remember you saying that spirits sometimes do that," I said, motioning towards the eyes. I crossed my arms valiantly and gave Uncle Dean a 'suck on that, bitch' face.

"What's going on?" Dad asked, rolling down the window with a lazy look in his eyes. He wasn't fully alert quite yet.

"Lizzie here's found a job," Uncle Dean said.

"What?" Dad's voice was a combination of disbelief, anger and something along the lines of pride. The 'pride' part really surprised me. Maybe he was finally accepting the fact that, hey, I am part of this whole operation now.

Okay, yeah right. But a girl can dream.

I proudly told Dad what I discovered.

"I guess we have gone off less," Dad muttered, still slightly annoyed on how deep I was getting into 'the family business.' "How far are we from St. Louis?"

"We'd be there by morning if we shag ass," Uncle Dean announced after he finished filling up the Impala.

In silent agreement, we headed towards St. Louis.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Note to self: NEVER take up a job that you are personally connected to.

I had a hell of a time convincing Lily why I showed up at her grandma's house the next day. I tried to explain to her how I was worried about Zach.

Dad and Uncle Dean went through their usual dealings. They talked with Lily's mom about the murder and Dad actually convinced her that Uncle Dean was a detective back in Kansas who might be able to help Zach out.

Lily's mom took Dad and Uncle Dean to the crime scene, but I stayed with Lily, even though I have officially claimed this job as "mine" since I found it.

"Why did you really leave Palo Alto?"

Lily's eyes were full of concern. I sighed heavily before I spoke. "My dad and I…we needed to get away. So, we moved in with my Uncle Dean."

"But…he's the one broke in on Halloween," Lily explained. "Aren't you at least freaked out by that?"

"Honestly? No. The situation changed—I've changed."

"You know you can tell me anything." Lily looked directly into my eyes. Despite the fact that she ignored me after Halloween—despite the fact that all conversation stopped between us before this—despite it all, Lily was still there for me.

I just wish I could tell her everything. I need to talk about my new life with someone other than Dad or Uncle Dean. However, I didn't want to go into full detail about the last few weeks of my life.

"It's been difficult." I didn't elaborate on that.

"No duh," Lily said. A couple years ago, she lost her dad in a car accident. She knew what I was going through…at least, she thought she did. "No offense, but you look tired as heck."

I tried not to laugh at Lily saying 'heck' instead of 'hell'. She really frowns upon how I curse like a sailor, not that I've really cared. Words are just words to me.

"It's just the nightmares," I said. "I'm still having them, even after all this time." I shook my head. "But, enough about me and my screwed up life. How are you doing with Zach's situation?"

"It's been…hard. I didn't know his girlfriend, but Uncle Zach is completely devastated." Lily sighed, trying to compose herself. "It doesn't help at all that he is falsely accused. He was with me and Mom until well after midnight. It would be darn near impossible for him to kill his girlfriend at ten-thirty."

"Don't worry," I said, knowing that it is my turn to be the comforting one, "Uncle Dean is the best damn detective in Kansas."

"I really hope so, for Uncle Zach's sake."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I stared up at the ceiling of the motel room we currently resided in. It was yet another sleepless night to add to the other sleepless nights.

Sitting up in my roll-away cot that I was shunned to, I looked at the two sleeping forms of Dad and Uncle Dean. It was amazing how Uncle Dean can fall asleep anywhere. It seems that the moment his head hits the pillow, he is out like a light bulb. Dad tosses and turns quite a bit in the beginning. However, exhaustion takes over about an hour later and he is out for the count by then.

It's sad, really, that I know exactly how Dad and Uncle Dean fall asleep. Well, there really isn't much else I can do as I avoided sleep. I could pull the blankets up and do something on the laptop (like school…yeah, right), but with how paper thin the sheets and blankets are, the light would still be obvious.

My mind wandered back to earlier today. I was really worried about Lily and her family. With the evidence stacked up against Zach, even if we did find out that there is something supernatural at work, it isn't like the evidence we find will hold up in any sane court.

Besides, the way they were talking earlier today, it sounded like it might not be "freaky".

I tried to get them to elaborate, but, of course, I was stuck in the dark when it comes to this. But that wasn't the only thing that was bothering me about this. I was afraid that my first hunt that I actually found won't end up being a hunt at all. If that proves to be true, then I'll never get my chance to prove that I deserve to be out there fighting next to them.

Unable to handle the silence of the room, I threw the covers off me. I slowly stood up, afraid that I would wake the other tenants. Once I was fully standing, I swiftly moved to my duffle where I pulled out the first sweatshirt I came across. I put it on as I made my way out of the motel room.

For being three AM, the parking lot was completely void any living person. I just made my way past the parked cars until I came across the familiar metallicar. I leaned against the hood. I jumped up in surprise as shivers ran down my legs and made my hairs stand up on end. The metal was freaking cold. Of course, it wasn't like the night air contained any heat, either.

I decided to go for a walk. I did not go far, in fear of being caught in the wee hours of the morning. For the most part, I thought I was alone…at least, until I heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel.

I quickly turned until I was face-to-face with—

"Uncle Dean?" I asked, clutching my chest in hopes that it would calm down my heart. "Wh-what the hell are you doing?"

"I should ask you the same thing," he said, crossing his arms. "Did you really think that you were that quiet getting out of the room?"

Well, yeah, I did. But I didn't admit it aloud.

"Sorry for waking you," I said, turning around so that he wouldn't notice my face flush with embarrassment. Maybe I shouldn't be a hunter, if I couldn't even sneak past two people who were sleeping. "I just couldn't sleep."

"Maybe you should have left a note," Uncle Dean said, "just in case something happened to you."

That should have been my first clue that something was up. Uncle Dean would be bitching me out for waking him up for something as petty as "I couldn't sleep" and then he would tell me exactly what I did wrong. Maybe even give me a few pointers on how to be quieter, or something.

"I'll do that next time," I said, continuing to head back to the motel room.

I never got the chance, however, because someone hit me across the head with something. I felt a white-hot pain shoot through my head. I stumbled forward, feeling sick to my stomach from the sudden pain. Instinctively, I grabbed the back of my head. Something hot and sticky laced between my fingers and my heart sank.

Was that blood?

When I was about to cry out for help, someone hit me over the head again and I seemed to fall into an endless void.


	4. Doppelganger

_Author's Note: F-bomb warning, but I feel that it is the only word the truly fit the statement. I apologize if it at all offends you._

**Chapter IV - Doppelganger**

When I blinked my eyes open, I was greeted with a blinding light. I winced and attempted to block it out with my hand. Once my eyes adjusted, I immediately felt alert and sat up.

I felt really, _really_ weird. I tried to remember how I got this odd ache in the back of my head, but my mind came up short.

With my mind on autopilot, I stood up from the bed. The first indication that something was wrong was the fact that I was in a hotel bed, not the cot like I fell asleep on. Did I have some sort of weird, sleep-walking thing going on or something?

The second indication was how I didn't seem to be controlling my actions. I was thinking that I should see if Uncle Dean or Dad were awake so I can figure out what the hell was going on. But, instead, I made my way to the bathroom.

The third—and most obvious—was when I looked in the mirror, I saw a sleeping looking Dad looking at me instead of, well, me.

I wanted to scream because, well, it isn't everyday that I wake up in Dad's body. Of course, I couldn't scream. I had a feeling that this sort of "out-of-body" experience would be like a normal person watching TV. They watched, listened and sometimes openly complained, but they had not control over what was going on.

So, naturally, I couldn't stop Dad from going to the bathroom. Yeah, I'd rather not repeat what _that_ experience was like. Let's just say, I doubt I can look at Dad the same ever again.

Dad walked out, dressed in the day's attire (again, ugh), to see Uncle Dean just waking up from his slumber. On the other side of him was…

Me?

I was fast asleep on the cot. I was lying on my stomach—like I normally do—and I was unattractively drooling—like I normally do. I was even wearing the same pajama pants and loose-fitted tank top that I went to bed in.

For all intents and purposes, it was me lying on the cot. But, how can it be me on the cot if I was stuck in Dad's mind?

What the hell?

"Morning, Dean," Dad said, sitting back down on his bed. But, he really wasn't looking at Uncle Dean. Instead, his gaze was transfixed on my sleeping form. A smile played on his lips, as if he was happy that I was drooling all over the pillow.

Or, maybe he was smile that, despite everything, he still had his baby girl.

"Meh," Uncle Dean muttered, walking over to the bathroom for his turn in the bathroom.

Dad stood up and walked over to my cot. He gently shook my shoulder. "Hey, Lizzie, wake up!"

It's Liz, not Lizzie! Get it right, Dad.

I groaned loudly, twitching away from his touch. Okay, this is just weird. It was fairly easy to accept when it was my motionless body we were looking at, but now that I was moving and making noise, it just seemed to…real.

"Da-ad," I grumbled. Yep, sounds like something I would say. "Five more minutes." Well, whatever the hell is going on, at least I still sound like me…if it was even me.

"C'mon, kiddo," Dad kept egging. "Dean and I have to things to check up on at Zach's place. I figured we could drop you off at Lily's."

I slowly sat up in bed. My hair was untamed and it looked like a bird tried to lay a nest in it. Does my hair always look like that? Maybe I should start using more conditioner.

Wait, how could I be worrying about hair at a time like this? Hello? Stuck in Dad's body. Did you already forget that?

Dad turned when he heard Uncle Dean walking out of the bathroom, looking a million times better than he did when he first woke up.

"All yours, Lizzie."

"Fine," I said, slowly making my way to the bathroom. Remind me to slap both Dad and Uncle Dean later for not realizing that my reply to Uncle Dean wasn't, "Don't call me Lizzie," or, "It's Liz," that something was screwy.

Maybe Mom was right about men: they were completely clueless—even ones that you lived with twenty-four/seven.

After I slammed the bathroom door, Dad sighed deeply. "I hate this."

"You say that every time you look at her," Uncle Dean said, double-checking his weapons in the little kitchenette that was nestled in the corner of the motel room. "You wish that you could rewrite history where Jessica was still alive and Liz was still clueless about what was really out there."

Dad laid down on the bed and looked at the ceiling. "You don't have to be a dick about it."

"Sam," Uncle Dean said, going over his shotgun with a fine-toothed comb, "I'm just telling you that she's stuck with us no matter what."

Dad's jaw tightened. "Actually, I considered asking Natasha to take care of Liz."

Uncle Dean froze. "You were going to give up _your daughter_!"

"I was just trying to figure out what was best for her, Dean." Dad sat up to face Uncle Dean better. "Besides, my mind was still fucked up from losing Jess. I knew that I had to find Dad, and I knew for damn sure that Liz doesn't deserve to be raised like we were."

It was then that I realized the amazingness of having your own body to control. I wanted to get away from the motel room. Realizing that Dad didn't want me with him made me sick to my stomach—that is, if I _had _a stomach at the moment.

"Well, you obviously came to your senses since she is currently with _us _and not Jessica's extremely hot sister."

Wow, was Uncle Dean really hitting on Aunt Natasha? Wouldn't that be considered incest or something, since Mom and Dad were, well, _married_ and Uncle Dean was Dad's brother and Aunt Natasha was Mom's sister?

If I had my own head, I would probably have a headache from trying to figure this out.

Good thing I don't have one at the moment, I guess.

Dad turned when he heard me exit the bathroom. I was dressed in my usual attire of jeans, a graphic t-shirt and a sweatshirt. It made me wonder who was controlling my actions if I was technically in Dad's head.

If that was even my body?

This is getting weirder and weirder by the minute.

"Okay, let's get going," Uncle Dean announced, standing up. Dad followed suit and…

Well, that's just it—I have no idea. One minute, I was in Dad's head and the next…I'm not.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The pain was the first thing I noticed.

It was as if someone was constantly punching the back of my head. Every time I breathed, every time my heart beat, every time I thought, the pain intensified. It would slowly dull, but only to shoot back up a moment later.

I tried to peal my eyes open, but it was next to impossible. It felt like someone glued my eyes together. Then, I realized, they were crusted over, like I was crying and didn't wipe them away in the middle of the night. I attempted to reach up to rub the grit away, but I couldn't move my hands.

They were bound.

Blind, I struggled to be released from the hold, but they wouldn't budge. In fact, it hurt every time I twisted and jerked. Whoever tied me up wanted to make damn sure that I didn't escape.

Eventually, I gave up. I wasn't about to accept defeat, but I was pretty sure my wrists were now rubbed raw and possibly bleeding. Not to mention the searing pain in the back of my head, it was freaking cold wherever I was and the fact that I was blind.

This sucks.

I tried to think of how I got here. Being in my own mind (I think I am in my own mind now, I hope), it seemed a little bit easier to actually think beyond what was going on at the given moment. I was able to think back to last night. I remembered leaving the motel room to go for a walk, but then I ran into Uncle Dean and then someone hit me in the back of the head.

Did Uncle Dean hit me in the back of the head?

No, that's impossible. Why would Uncle Dean hit me in the back of the head? Besides, that wouldn't explain why I suddenly have a doppelganger taking my place.

What if Uncle Dean has a doppelganger and his doppelganger and mine are in cahoots. But, why would Uncle Dean's doppelganger kidnap me and leave my doppelganger, leaving Uncle Dean and Dad with her. But, instead of Uncle Dean, it could also be Uncle Dean's doppelganger.

What if mine and Uncle Dean's doppelgangers are the same creature?

I remember reading somewhere about "shifters", creatures that can take the form of someone else. What if the shifter took the form of Uncle Dean to lull me into a false sense of security to kidnap me and then the shifter is now me with Dad and Uncle Dean.

So far, that is the more plausible theory I have.

That means, Dad and Uncle Dean are in danger and they have no clue that the danger is, well, me! That revelation made me struggle harder against my binds. I ignored the burn and only focused on having to save Dad and Uncle Dean.

I couldn't lose them.

I must have a guardian angel or someone watching over me. The ropes loosened enough for my hands to shimmy out of them. Once I was free, I rubbed my eyes to remove the grit.

I blinked a few times to allow my eyes to adjust to the dim light. I looked around to try and figure out where I was. I saw the faint outline of pipe working and the place smelt faintly like…well, it stunk so bad that I didn't really want to know.

If I had to give my best guess, I think I was in some sort of underground sewer system.

I visibly shuttered, but I had more important things to worry about then getting some sort of incurable disease from this germ-invested place—like getting topside.

Using my hands as eyes for lack of lighting, I groped around in hopes of finding a ladder. When I couldn't find one with close proximity of myself, I cautiously took baby steps forward until my hand touched something cold.

It was a pipe and, although not what I was hoping for, it was not completely worthless. Using it as a guide, I walked along it in hopes of running into a ladder.

I didn't know how far I traveled or how long it has been. But, I eventually found a ladder and quickly climbed it, ignoring the grime that coated the cold steel.

When my hand brushed up against the roof of the sewer (I was going to take a _long_ shower after all this is over), I pushed up. I released a shaky sigh of relief when it moved up. I slid it open and sunlight pierced the darkness, blinding me as I finished climbing that last few rungs.

Finally, I made it to the surface world.

I was in some sort of abandoned alley. The only other living soul was a hungry cat digging around a dumpster for breakfast (or lunch, or dinner—I had no clue what time it was). I was relieved that no one was here to witness me crawl out of the sewer. That would just be embarrassing and someone would most likely call the cops.

Of course, now I was out of the frying pan into the fire. I had no clue where I was, if I was even in St. Louis, anymore. I made my way to the mouth of the alley. I was in some sort of residential area and, accept for a group of kids playing in someone's front yard and a couple of cars that passed by, it was fairly lifeless.

I still felt like a freak as I stood there in my grime-covered pajamas (without shoes, no less), trying to formulate a plan. I had no money for bus or cab fare, so that was out. I could just walk until I come to a part of town that I recognized, but what was the likeliness of that?

Less than zero.

I could go up to someone's house and ask for directions to the Shooting Star Motel, where we were staying. Yeah, I could do that.

Or, this is the city. One look at me and people would probably call the cops.

But, that was a chance I was willing to take. Dad and Uncle Dean were in danger. I had to warn them before my doppelganger hurts them…or kills them.

Forcing my thoughts to steer-clear of death, I walked up to the nearest house and rang the doorbell. While I impatiently waited for someone to answer, I thought of a cover story. I mean, it wasn't like people are going to believe the truth.

This was either my lucky day or my own personal Friday the Thirteenth because an elderly woman answered the door with a pleasant enough, "Hello." With my experience with old people, they are either extremely nice or extremely mean. I really hoped this woman was the former.

"Hi, my name is Maureen Johnson," what can I say, I'm a _RENT_-head, "and some of my friends pulled a joke on me and now I'm lost. Can you point me in the right direction to the Shooting Star Motel?"

I did everything by the book—I kept it vague enough that it didn't seem like I was babbling, but I gave enough information to make it look like I wasn't hiding anything. Maybe I finally got this lying down pat.

"Oh dear," the woman said, "you poor thing. You look like you have been crawling around in the sewer!" She had no idea. "Please, come in. You can use my phone to have someone come get you. I couldn't live with myself if I allowed you to walk back like _this_."

I cautiously entered the house. Remembering from my one and only experience on an airplane while Dad and Uncle Dean hunting a demon, I muttered "Christo," under my breath. When the old woman didn't react demonically, I relaxed a little.

The woman ushered me into a kitchen chair. She handed me the phone and insisted on making me some tea while I made my phone call. For once, I didn't argue. I now realize how hungry and thirsty I was.

I punched in Dad's cell phone number and impatiently waited for him to pick up. On the third ring, he answered.

"Hello."

"Dad, it's me."

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

I looked at the old woman, who was bustling around the cupboards looking for tea. Hoping she was out of earshot, I whispered. "It's Liz."

"Uh…how can that be? Liz is in the backseat."

"Dad, that…Liz you're with is not Liz—_me_. She's a shape shifter!"

I held my breath in anticipation. I prayed—literally sent a prayer to the Big Man upstairs—that he believed me.

"Look, if this is some sort of prank, it isn't funny."

"Ask Liz what her embarrassing nickname as a kid was."

"What?"

"She's not gonna say _Bubble-Butt_. No one knows that but you, me and Mom."

Dad sighed on the other side of the phone.

"Fine," he muttered.

He must have pulled the phone away from him, because what he spoke next seemed distant. "Hey, Liz. Do you remember what I used to call you as a kid?"

I had no clue what was going on over on the other end. After Dad finished his question, I heard someone full-on brawling. My heart sank because I had no clue what was going on.

"Dad?" I asked, once the noises died down. When there was no answer, I tried again. "Dad?"

This time, I got an answer. Just not from the person I was hoping it would be.

"That wasn't a smart move, Liz." The shifter might have had my voice, but it sounded icy and, well, evil. "You should have just stayed down in the sewers like you were."

The line went dead. I just sat there, listening to the unfathomable silence.


	5. Framed

_Author's Note: After two mean cliffhangers, I am proud to announce that this is the last chapter that is based off 'Skin'. I'd like to thank AccioInspiration for the push I needed to get past my writers block and for coming up with the "oil trail" idea. Also, I will be on vacation for the next week, so I probably won't be able to update until I get back. I'm sorry :(_

**Chapter V - Framed**

"Are you alright, Maureen?"

It took me a moment to register that I used a character from _RENT_ as an alias. "Yeah," I said, my voice betraying my answer. "Um, listen. Can you just give me directions? I'm sure I'll be fine."

After some persuasion (and a promise to finish my tea), she gave me directions to the motel. It actually wasn't far from her place—about two-and-a-half blocks.

I pretty much ran there, ignoring the weird stares I got from other pedestrians. It must look odd, seeing a teenage girl running barefoot in her pajamas and smelling like she spent the night in a sewer.

I made it back to the motel in record time. The first thing I noticed was how the Impala was missing. Of course, Dad mentioned how the shifter was in the backseat, so they must have taken it wherever they were going.

Using a bobby-pin from my hair, I picked the lock to the motel room like Uncle Dean taught me. I might not have done it as quickly as him, but I eventually got it open and I walked inside.

It looked exactly the same as it did when I was visiting Dad's head. Of course, it probably wouldn't be any different, unless the shifter came back.

As I changed into something I little more appropriate, I tried to think about what the shifter could possibly be up to. How did he (she?) go from killing Zach's girlfriend to wanting to become me and, eventually, attacking Dad and Uncle Dean.

Maybe that is the thing about monsters—they made no sense on their reasoning.

Once I was dressed, I grabbed Uncle Dean's secret weapons duffle from underneath his bed. I remembered how to kill a shifter because it is the same as how to kill a werewolf—a silver bullet to the heart, but any sort of silver weapon in general will wound it.

So, I grabbed a pistol and the silver bullets I remember help Dad forge one night a couple weeks ago. I loaded the gun and tucked into my waistband like I have seen cops do on, as Uncle Dean would say, "dumbass procedural cop shows."

Okay, I was armed and I was ready…

Now how the hell am I supposed to find them?

I frantically thought back to my time in Dad's grapefruit. I remember him mentioning something about dropping me off at Lily's while him and Uncle Dean continued with the hunt.

Oh shit! Lily!

I quickly ran outside and my heart ran cold. I knew in my heart of hearts that Lily and her family might be in danger, but I had no clue on how to get to her grandma's house.

Dammit!

I looked down at the space that was previously occupied by the Impala. I don't know what compelled me to look down, but I was thankful that I did.

Judging by the faint trail of motor oil, I assumed that the Impala had an oil leak—which is totally going to piss Uncle Dean off. However, it was my gift! This trail could very well lead me right to the Impala and, ultimately, Dad, Uncle Dean and the douchebag shifter.

I ran along the trail. It was definitely a slow leak, but it was dripping often enough that I could easily follow it.

The trail led me right to the Impala, which was parked in front of Lily's house. Keeping low by the bushes, I pulled out the gun. I still wasn't comfortable with using it and I didn't have the best aim in the world, but if I shoot the damn thing a dozen times or so, one of them _has_ to go through the heart, if probability was on my side.

I cautiously approached the Impala. I peered inside through the driver's side window. Dad leaned against his side window, unconscious, and Uncle Dean was awkwardly leaning against Dad, also unconscious. After I save lives from mortal peril, I am definitely going to give them crap from this bromance moment.

Knowing that the threat wasn't anywhere near my family, I began making my way towards Lily's grandma's house. Even though I was outside, from what I can tell, nothing _freaky_ was going on inside.

Maybe I am wrong about what is going on inside. Maybe the shifter went somewhere else after abandoning Dad and Uncle Dean. There are a lot of maybes, but there is only one way to prove it.

Tucking the gun back in my waistband, I rung the doorbell and stepped back, hoping I was prepared for whatever is, literally, thrown at me.

Lily answered the door, a look of disbelief written all over her face.

"Liz—I—but—you're—_what_?"

"Who is it, Lily?"

I shoved abrasively past Lily and pulled my gun out again and pointed it right at the shifter.

Uncle Dean had told me to shoot first and ask questions later. However, as an experience hunter, I didn't have the heart to shoot the shifter…

…because, well, _it looked exactly like me_.

Of course, I expected the shifter to attack me like it had earlier. However, I did not expect the shifter to, well, act innocent.

The shifter stumbled back, looking completely flabbergasted at the sight of me. "What the hell is going on, Lily?"

From what I can tell, Lily was still cowering over by the door, probably completely unaware that the shifter spoke to her.

_Shoot, now!_

I don't know where the command came from within the crevices of my mind, but I obeyed. I pulled the trigger and fought against the recoil.

The shifter crashed to the ground, clutching its shoulder.

"What the hell was that for you freak," the shifter said, through gritted teeth.

"Oh," I said, "I'm the freak, am I."

If it weren't for the fact that she was attacking the wrong person, I would have given props to Lily for boldly attacking like she did. Despite the fact that she was inexperienced and I was, well, sort of experienced, she tackled me to the ground, knocking the gun out of my hands.

"Lil, you got the wrong person!" I cried, struggling to get away from her attempts of landing a hand on me. It wasn't hard to dodge them, considering her lack of skills. I was able to twist around so that I had Lily pinned down.

I struggled to keep a slithering Lily at bay, but the sound of a gun being cocked next to my ear caught my attention. I didn't have to look to know that the shifter must have grabbed my gun and was now pointing it at me.

"Get off her, you bitch!"

"Dad!" I shouted, completely relieved for a moment that he was there to rescue Lily and me.

At least, until I realized that the gun was pointed at me.

I quickly jumped back off Lily, the gun in Dad's hands following my movement.

And to make things a million times worse, the shifter had my gun pointed at me.

There are a few things in life that actually makes sense. Don't ask me what reasoning went on in my mind when I said it, it just sort of just…happened.

"BUBBLE-BUTT!" I shouted, putting my hands up in a defensive move, as if that would protect me from two high-caliper guns.

This made Dad hesitate and actually consider who the shifter actually is. But, the shifter must have realized this because it aimed the gun directly at my head.

But the shifter never had the chance to pull the trigger, since it was being tackled by none other than Lily Jackson.

In one fluid motion, the shifter back-handed Lily with the gun and sent her toppling towards the other side of the entryway. I recovered quickly and tackled the shifter to the ground before she had a chance to even aim at Lily.

Like I said earlier, I was great with defensive—horrible with offensive. I was able to prevent the shifter from landing a blow on me, but I couldn't even get prepared to punch the ass hat. The shifter kneed me in the stomach and I doubled over with pain, the wind knocked right out of me.

The loud explosion from the gun continued to ring in my ears well after the initial shot. I didn't know who was hit until the limp form of the shifter landed right on top of me.

It was a sickening sight looking, technically, at my dead body. I felt like I was going to puke just at the very sight of it.

After the initial shock of what happened, Dad looked at me and asked, "Please tell me I killed the right one."

"Bubble-Butt," I repeated, accepting help from him to stand. Once I was balanced on my two feet, Dad tackled me with one of his infamous bear hugs.

It almost seemed too unreal that the fight was over. I looked up at Dad. It must have been horrible having to shoot his daughter—even if it is a shifter taking her form.

Lily coughed loudly and I looked down at her. I immediately pulled from the embrace and kneeled down to help her out.

Once she realized that it was me, she immediately stumbled back. She whimpered in fear.

"Hey, it's me," I said, giving her a weak smile that didn't reach my eyes.

"Prove it."

"When we were in fourth grade, you were afraid to use the bathroom because it was also used by the fifth graders and you were terrified of them. So, I pulled the fire alarm and took the fall for it so that you could pee in peace." Yeah, we could have totally come up with a better plan, but we were, like, nine or something.

"Oh my God!" she cried, hugging me. Sheesh, what was with the touchy-feely-ness all of a sudden? Once she released me, she looked at the shifter's dead form. "How is that…you?"

"It isn't me," I explained. "It was a shape shifter."

"What?" Her voice was laced with utter disbelief.

But, I was unable to answer her question because Uncle Dean finally decided to make an appearance.

"What did I miss?"

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"I am not gonna lie. This is the freakiest thing I have ever seen."

It is not every day that someone gets to visit their own funeral. And, yeah, technically speaking this isn't _my _funeral, but it is the funeral of the dumbass that took my form—so, freaky.

"Agreed," Dad and Uncle Dean said at the same time. The three of us watched as the corpse of the shape shifter burned.

Once the shifter was reduced to ash, the three of us headed back to the Impala. I took my usual spot in the back seat and settled back into the familiar leather interior.

I was glad that we agreed to hit the road the moment that we finished burning the corpse. As much as I needed to make amends with a now truly traumatized Lily, I doubt that she would ever want to see my face again.

Of course, I spoke to soon. Once we were safely on the freeway heading north, I got a call from her.

"Hello," I said, unable to mask the surprise in my voice.

"Your uncle Dean is screwed," she said.

It wasn't until after the shock of Lily openly swearing that I realized the significance of her words. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, let's just say he as an APB on him."

"What? Why?"

"They have footage of him attacking you in the motel parking lot. And the police just left my house because neighbors called in for a noise complaint _and _someone saw him carrying the…shifter out of the house."

My heart sank to my feet. This is pretty serious if the police realize that we were there—well, mainly Uncle Dean. But, still.

"Uh…thanks Lily. I'll, um…I'll tell them."

"And, Liz," Lily said, taking a deep breath as if to steady herself. "Be careful. What you and your dad and your uncle do is pretty dangerous."

You don't have to tell me. "I will, Lil. But, I think we should talk about…what happened."

"As far as I'm concerned, it never happened."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

Well, that was a little too easy. "Despite that, let's not be strangers, okay?"

"Okay," she said.

I hung up with her and just stared at the phone for a long while.

"What's up, Liz?" Dad asked, studying me with concern.

I looked up at him and steadied my breath. I explained to him and Uncle Dean what Lily had just told me.

"Well, this sucks," Uncle Dean muttered. "Looks like we'll need to keep a closer eye on our asses." He pressed down harder on the gas, as if that would help escape our problems.


	6. Returning

_Author's Note: Well, I just got back from vacation only to be starting school :C I know in the beginning I was pretty good with updates, but with school starting I have a feeling that I won't be updating as often. Thank you for your patience and I hope to have the next chapter up within the next couple of days._

_Happy Labor Day!_

**Chapter VI - Returning**

It was one of those rare days where we didn't have a hunt going on, so we were searching for one.

Well, Uncle Dean was searching. I was _supposed_ to be working on schoolwork (I was really playing some online game that I found, addicted the moment I started playing it) and Dad was…well, he seemed so enthralled in whatever he was doodling on the notepad he had that I doubt he heard a word Uncle Dean was saying.

"Fishing trawler of the coast of Cali where the crew vanished," Uncle Dean explained, after taking a sip of coffee. He turned to face Dad who wasn't even paying attention. "We've got some cow mutilations in west Texas," Uncle Dean continued on. Dad still wasn't paying attention

"Hey!" Uncle Dean cried, fed up with Dad ignoring him. Dad finally looked up at him. "Am I boring you with this fighting evil stuff?"

"No, I'm listening. Keep going."

I rolled my eyes. I considered taking a peak at whatever Dad was writing on the notepad, but I figured he'd let us know if it was of importance.

"Here a Sacramento man shot himself in the head," he paused for dramatic effect, "three times!" As if to prove his point, he held up three fingers. When Dad _still_ wasn't really paying attention, Uncle Dean added, "Any of these blowing up your skirt, pal?"

"I've got one you can wear if that'll help," I said. It sounded a lot funnier in my head.

Ignoring Uncle Dean and me, Dad said, "Wait, I've seen this."

"Seen what?" Uncle Dean and I asked, concurrently.

Continuing to ignore us, Dad stood up from the bed and began rifling through his duffle. I was so focused on what was going on in reality that I fell off a cliff in cyberspace. "Dammit," I swore, hastily trying to use some sort of item to get me out of it. No such luck. I lost my last life for the day.

"What are you swearing about?" Uncle Dean asked, looking at me curiously.

"Stupid game," I said, without really thinking. I guess Dad was distracted enough that he didn't realize that I wasn't working on schoolwork and it wasn't like Uncle Dean honestly cared if I did my schoolwork or not.

Shaking his head incredulously, Uncle Dean turned his attention back to Dad. "What are you doing?" he asked.

The question, again, went unanswered as Dad began to rummage though some sort of info keeper. Curious as to what he was looking at, I walked over to him and looked over his shoulder (well, more like arm thanks to the fact that he was a Sasquatch and I was a dwarf). In his hand held a picture of four people—which, I am guessing would be Uncle Dean, Dad and their parents. But Dad seemed transfixed on the tree in the picture rather than the subjects at hand. He was comparing it to a hand drawing of the same exact tree that he must have drawn.

Wow, he was a pretty good artist. Why could I be talented like that?

"Dean, I know where we have to go next," Dad announced, turning to face Uncle Dean. He bumped into me, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Where?"

"Back home. Back to Kansas."

Uncle Dean gave Dad an incredulous look. "Okay, random. Where'd that come from?"

"Alright…um," Dad walked over towards Uncle Dean and I just stayed rooted in my spot. I had a gut feeling that a bro-moment was going to happen and I'd rather not have my estrogen get in the way. "This photo was taken in front of our old house, right? That's where mom died?" Dad asked, handing Uncle Dean the photo from his info keeper.

"Yeah," Uncle Dean said, incredulously.

"And it didn't burn down, right? Not completely, they rebuilt it, right?"

"Ye-yeah, I guess so." Uncle Dean shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"This is going to sound crazy—"

"Already does," I muttered, glad no one heard me.

"—but the people who live in our old house," Dad paused, as if to reconsider his words. "I think they might be in danger."

Uncle Dean didn't hesitate when he said, "Why would you think that?"

"Uh…" Dad muttered, looking completely stumped. "It's just—um—look, just," Dad abruptly stood up. "Just trust me on this." I stepped out of the way as he went for his duffle, my mind failing to comprehend what was actually going on right now.

"Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa…trust you?"

"Yeah," Dad said, as if it was completely normal to just go on some random hunch with absolutely no explanation as to what might lead him to believe that the current residents their old home are in danger from a tree he drew.

"C'mon, that's weak. You're gonna have to give me a little more than that."

"Dad's what's going on?" I know that I said I was staying out of this, but this is just getting weirder and weirder by the moment—well, weird for us—and my curiosity got the best of me.

"I can't really explain it."

"Well tough," Uncle Dean said, visibly annoyed with Dad. I can't really blame him there. "I'm not going anywhere until you do."

With an annoyed sigh, Dad turned to face Uncle Dean. Somehow, I ended up between them—which was probably a bad thing, especially with how long it took for Dad to answer. Uncle Dean just might end up punching the answers out of him.

"I have these…nightmares."

This was nothing new. "We've noticed," I said.

Dad shot me a warning look—which I ignored, as usual—before he continued. "And sometimes they come true."

"Come again?" Uncle Dean asked.

After taking a deep breath in, Dad said, "Look, I dreamed about Jessica's death for days before it happened."

My heart sank. What was Dad talking about? Did he just admit that he _knew _about Mom's death _before_ it happened? I reached behind me for the wall to steady myself from this realization.

Of course, Uncle Dean automatically filed it under "Coincidence" instead of "Freaky".

"Sam, people have weird dreams and I'm sure it is just a coincidence." Uncle Dean went and sat down on the bed. I sunk to my knees, trying to grasp what was really going on here.

"No, I dreamt about the blood dripping, the ceiling the fire, the—" he looked at me. He probably saw me being pinned to the wall as I watched the whole thing unfold. "—everything and I didn't do anything about it because I didn't want to believe it and now that thing about the tree and the house and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, this is where it all started, man. It has to mean something. I mean, right?" By the end of the rant, Dad sounded hysterical and I could barely keep up with what he was saying.

I mean, if Dad is having psychic visions and I can somehow enter someone's mind, does it mean that this is somehow related? I had so many questions swirling around in my head that I didn't know where to begin.

Uncle Dean looked like he didn't know the answer—probably didn't want to know the answer. "I don't know," he finally admitted, looking back down at the picture.

To say Dad exploded would be an understatement. "What do you mean you don't know? This woman could be in danger. I mean, this might even be the thing that killed Mom and Jessica—"

"Alright, slow down, wouldja?" Uncle Dean rose from the bed and paced towards the front of the room, obviously trying to figure this crap out. Lord knows I'm still trying. "I mean, first you tell me you got The Shining and then you tell me I have to go back home." Uncle Dean released a sigh of frustration before continuing. "Especially after…"

"After what?" Dad asked.

"After I swore to myself I'd never go back there."

Uncle Dean looked away, almost on the verge of tears. I threw my head into my hands to hide my uncontrollable tears.

I think Uncle Dean is growing on me, because I just want this chick-flick moment to end.

"Look," Dad said, "we need to check this out. Just to make sure."

Uncle Dean turned back to face Dad. Very subtly, he nodded. "I know we do."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Uncle Dean stopped the car in front of the house I have only seen in pictures that Dad has shown me. It looked like every other rural house—nothing remotely special. However, the memories and the significance of the house outweigh the market price.

The emotion was so thick in the car that I could have cut it with a knife.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay?" Dad asked Uncle Dean, both of whom were still staring at the house that held so much happiness, yet so much pain.

"Let me get back to you on that," Uncle Dean answered, obviously trying to hide the fact that he hated every moment that we were here. He had vague memories of playing catch with his dad in the front yard, and daring Jack Michaels from next door to eat a worm. But, he was also reliving the night that his mom was killed. At least, parts of it that he remembered.

Wait, how the hell do I know all that?

Dad was the first to climb out of the car. Uncle Dean probably would have just sat there for hours, but he was pushed back into reality.

"Stay here, Liz," Dad said as he rounded the car and joined Uncle Dean on the sidewalk leading to the front door.

"Gladly," I muttered, turning my attention back to my schoolwork—AKA, computer games. I mean, it isn't that I'm dumb—of course, I am no Einstein. It is most just a lazy thing. Why do it if I don't have to? I know that is crappy of me, but it is just so much harder doing schoolwork when in the comfort of the Impala or motel room when I'd rather play an addicting computer game.

I couldn't explain my loathing towards being near the house where this whole thirty-some-odd year hunt started. There was just something in the pit of my stomach that made me want to get as far away from this place as possible.

It was hard to tell how much time passed. But the sounds of Dad freaking out over something brought me out of my gamer coma.

"You hear that? A figure on fire!"

I sat up straighter, almost knocking the laptop to the ground. I watched as Dad and Uncle Dean approached the Impala.

"And that woman in there, that was the woman from your dream?"

"Yeah, and you know what she was talking about? Scratches in the walls, flickering lights—both signs of a malevolent spirit."

"I'm just freaked out that your weird-o visions are coming true."

"Well forget about that for a moment. That thing in the house, do you think it was the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?"

"I don't know!"

"Has he come back or has it been here the whole time?"

They stopped just short of the Impala and I slowly sunk down into the seat. Maybe if I get low enough, maybe I'll just disappear all together.

"Maybe it is something else entirely different. We don't know yet."

"Well those people are in danger, Dean." Dad shook his head. "We need to get them out of that house."

"And we will," Uncle Dean said, beginning to head towards his usual place as the driver.

"No, now!"

Uncle Dean stopped to face Dad. "And how are you going to do that. Huh? Do you have a story she is going to believe?"

"What else are we supposed to do?"

"JUST SHUT UP!"

I was used to Dad and Uncle Dean fighting. Not a day goes by where they aren't at each other's throats. However, we were getting nowhere with them just standing around arguing like an old married couple.

My command must have awakened something within them, because the next thing I knew, we were at some random gas station, waiting for the gas-guzzling Impala to fill up.

"If this were just any ole hunt, what would we do?"

Don't ask me how I got so philosophical all of a sudden, but I just needed to get them to calm down and actually think about the real problem at hand—figuring out what is inside that house.

Besides, it wasn't like it was a trick question. They've been doing this for how long? Well, I wasn't quite sure on how long exactly, but long enough that they should know the answer to that question.

After a tense moment, Dad finally answered. "We figure out what we're dealing with. Get the history of the house."

Dad stood up from leaning against the Impala and went around to stand next to Dean at the back of the car. Needing to get out of the car, I climbed out and stood by Uncle Dean's other side.

"Exactly," I said.

"Except, we already know what happened."

Easy come, easy go I guess.

"But how much do we really know?" Dad asked. "How much do you remember?"

Uncle Dean was taken aback for a moment. "About that night, you mean?"

Dad nodded.

"Not much," he admitted. "I remember the fire…the heat…then I carried you out the front door."

It was Dad's turn to be caught off guard. "You did?"

The emotions attacked me again. Sadness, confusion, fear…they all bombarded me and I was slowly beginning to realize that I could feel their emotions.

It wasn't like seeing someone's facial expression and understanding the feeling behind it. I mean full on _I know exactly what their emotions are_.

How is that possible? I mean, I figured that it was just woman's intuition how I have been able to see past their emotional armor. But, now, I have a bad feeling that something freaky is going on. Between Dad's premonitions and my unexplainable powers, I had a sickening feeling that this is all connected to Mom's and Grandma's murders. And, so far, the only connection between the two is that yellow-eyed freak that I met the night Mom was killed.

"You never knew that?" Uncle Dean's question brought me back to reality with force. How long was I trapped in my own thoughts?

"No," Dad said, shaking his head.

"And, um," Uncle Dean said, obviously trying to push past the 'touchy-feely self-help yoga crap', "well, you know Dad's story as well as I. Mom was…was on the ceiling. Whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her."

"But I saw it," I said. "I saw the dickface that killed them."

"Hey, language," Dad warned. "Besides, you said that it looked human with yellow-eyes and obviously had the power to kill and pin you to the wall."

Dad did have a point. It wasn't like this screamed something obvious like a werewolf or a banshee.

"And if Dad had any theories," Uncle Dean added, "he kept them to himself." He chuckled dryly. "God knows how many times we asked him."

Dad shook his head. "Okay, in order to figure out what is going on now, we need to figure out what was going on back then and see if it is the same thing."

"Yep," Uncle Dean said. "Talk to Dad's friends, neighbors who were there at the time."

Obviously not wanting to drop the chick-flick moment, Dad asked, "Does this feel like another job to you?"

Uncle Dean didn't answer the question. He just said, "I'll be right back. I need to go to the bathroom."

I didn't believe a word that fell out of his mouth, and, judging by the look on Dad's face, neither did he. However, we did not call him out on it.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Uncle Dean and I leaned against the Impala while Dad searched through the phonebook for psychics. Apparently, after asking around the auto repair shop Grandpa used to work at, he went to some psychic before he "disappeared".

After the odd list of names, Uncle Dean seemed to react to the most normal one on the list: Missouri Mosley.

"Dad's journal," he said as he went around to the back of the Impala to retrieve it. "Look at this."

Dad and I walked over to him. "First page—first sentence. Read it," he ordered.

From the book, Dad read aloud, "'I went to Missouri…and I learned the truth.'"

And that is how we found ourselves in the waiting room for Missouri Mosley the psychic. We waited impatiently for her to finish up with a client. There might as well be a neon sign that said, "We want to get this friggin' over with" over our heads, because that is how we all feel at the moment.

Trust me, I know.

"Alright then, you don't have to worry about a thing" finally, _finally_ we hear the quaint southern accent of none other than Missouri Mosley as she talked with her client. "Your wife is crazy about you."

Once the client left, she dropped her happy-go-lucky demeanor as she said, "Poor bastard. His woman is cold-banging the gardener."

I have known her for all of five seconds and I already know that I like her.

"Why didn't you tell him?" Uncle Dean asked.

Missouri gave him an incredulous look. "People don't come in for the truth. They come for good news."

The three of us looked at each other. She sure was something else.

"Well?" she asked, impatiently. "Sam and Dean and Liz, c'mon already. I ain't got all day."

We looked at each other. I did not remember ever introducing ourselves to her. Then again, if she is an actually psychic, we wouldn't need to.

I guess she is pretty legit.

Slowly, we stood from the couch and followed Missouri into her office. Now, I've never been in any psychic offices before but, besides the beads at the door, it looked pretty ordinary.

"Well, let me look at you," she said. She chuckled gleefully as she took a brief moment to study us. "You boys grew up handsome," pointing at Uncle Dean, she added, "and you were one goofy looking kid."

I couldn't help but repress a laugh. Yep, I'm going to like this woman.

"Sam," she sighed, grabbing his hand. He smiled at her awkwardly, not really knowing what to do with himself. "Oh, honey," she cried, giving Dad a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry about your wife," she looked at me with a faint smile of reassurance, "and with your daughter losing a mother at a young age. But you two seem to be holding up okay."

I didn't know what to say, if I should even say anything. After the funeral, people lined up to Dad and me to say their condolences. I let Dad do all the thanking or whatever it is your supposed to do, mainly because I barely knew what was going on.

"And your father…" she went on, "he's missing?"

Well, she must be a pretty damn good psychic if she figured all that out.

"How do you know all that?"

"Well," Missouri began, "you were just thinking it, just now."

Dad continued to stare blankly at her. I didn't know what to think. It seemed like the only one who had motor skills was Uncle Dean.

"Where is he? Is he okay?"

Missouri thought for a moment. "I don't know," she admitted, flatly.

"Don't know?" Uncle Dean repeated, getting that _I'm-about-to-be-pissed_ face he got all too often. "You're supposed to be a psychic, right?"

I have seen many people angry in my short life. Thus far, I thought seeing Dad angry would be the scariest. However, just one look at Missouri after Uncle Dean's question made me want to go cower in a corner.

And, the thing is, she didn't _look _angry. She just sort of had this energy that just made one want to pee their pants they were so freaked out.

"Boy, do you see sawing some bony tramp in half? Do you think I'm some sort of magician?" Uncle Dean looked like he was about to answer, but she didn't give him a chance. "I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can't just pull facts out of thin air. Sit! Please!" With that said, she walked away from the three of us still standing at the entrance. Dad and I followed her, trying not to laugh at the situation. Uncle Dean looked like he didn't know what to do.

Missouri sat down in her chair and the three of us sat on the couch across from her. All was fine and dandy until Missouri pointed a warning finger at Uncle Dean. "BOY, YOU PUT YOUR FOOT ON MY COFFEE TABLE AND I'M GONNA WHIP YOU WITH A SPOON!"

Wow, today must be pick-on-Uncle-Dean-day. Next year, I'll be sure to mark my calendar.

"I didn't do anything," Uncle Dean said, trying to act innocent.

"You were thinking about it," Missouri countered.

Uncle Dean couldn't argue there. He probably would have, if it were anyone else besides Missouri. Still, Uncle Dean's misery is mine and Dad's joy. We had paralleled snickers that we desperately tried to hide, in case Missouri decided to make us her next target.

"Okay, so," Dad said, trying to calm down, "our Dad. When did you first meet him?"

"He came for a reading," Missouri explained, "a few days after the fire." She sighed deep before continuing. "I just told him what was really out there in the dark….I guess you could say I drew back the curtains for him."

"What about the fire?" Uncle Dean asked, the light air from earlier completely dispersed. "Do you—do you know about what killed our mom?"

"A little," Missouri admitted. "Your daddy took me to your house. He was hoping I could sense the echoes—the fingerprints of this thing."

"Could you?" Dad asked. For being six-foot-four, he sounded so small at this moment. This whole thing made me feel so small. We could be so close to finding out the answers we desperately need—yet, why do I feel like we are far from learning the truth?

"I don't…" Missouri answered, shaking her head.

"What was it?" I asked, finally finding my voice.

"I don't know," Missouri admitted in a hushed whispered. "Oh, but it was evil." She abruptly stood up as if someone lit a fire from beneath her. "You think something is back at that house."

Dad nodded. "Definitely."

"I don't understand," she said, shaking her head incredulously.

"What?" I asked.

"I haven't been back inside, but I have been keeping an eye on the place and it's been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents—why is it acting up now?"

"I don't know," Dad admitted. "But Dad missing and Jessica dying and now this house—it's all happening at once. It feels like something starting."

Uncle Dean rolled his eyes. "That's a comforting thought."

I thought back to what the yellow-eyed freak was telling me how he had plans for Dad and me. Could all these things somehow be connected to that?

Dad said that something is starting. I have a feeling that it has been here all along….

…And we are smack-dab in the middle of it.


	7. Poltergeist

**Chapter VII - Poltergeist**

"I don't like this," Dad admitted, after ringing the doorbell.

Ever since the incident in St. Louis, I have been forced to mostly stay away from the dangers of the family business. Research stuff is okay, but he's been trying to keep me away from the actual battle with the nasties.

Missouri agreed to come with us to check out the house, on one condition.

That I am there with her.

"Your daughter, here, handled herself a shifter—"

"Barely," Uncle Dean muttered.

"—just a few weeks ago. I don't think a preliminary search of the house is going to kill her. Just think of this as a…learning opportunity." Missouri snorted. "Lord knows this one needs to get away from that game she's been playing instead of her schoolwork."

Just when I started liking her, she rats me out.

Thankfully, Dad was going to have to wait to hark on me about how important school is blah-blah-blah, because Jenny opened the door. She was holding her son, Ritchie, both of whom look like they were scared nearly to death.

"Sam…Dean," she said, slightly breathless. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Jenny," Dad said, "this is our friend, Missouri, and my daughter, Liz."

I didn't know what to do or what to say, so I just smiled sweetly at her (at least, I hope it was sweetly). Although, Missouri seemed to do the same.

"If it isn't too much trouble," Uncle Dean said, "we'd like to show them the house…for ole time's sake."

Something wavered in Jenny's demeanor. "You know, this is not a good time." She turned to close the door, "I'm kinda busy."

"Listen, Jenny, it's kind of impo-_ow!_"

Missouri slapped Uncle Dean upside the head, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"Give the poor girl a break! Can't you see that she's upset?" Well, she just might be redeeming herself if she keeps up how she is picking on Uncle Dean. To Jenny, Missouri added, "Boy means well, he's just not the sharpest tool in the shed. But hear me out."

"About what?" Jenny asked, obviously confused by Missouri's words.

"About the house."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think you know what I'm talking about." In a more serious tone, Missouri continued. "You think there is something in this house. Something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?"

Jenny looked like she was either on the verge of tears and a laughing fit. "Who are you?"

"We're people who can help—who can stop this thing. But, you are going to have to trust us, just a little."

Reluctantly, Jenny allowed us inside. Missouri took the lead as she began heading through the house. She made her way around the living room and kitchen and headed up the stairs. "If there's a dark energy around here," she said, walking into one of the bedrooms, "this room should be the center of it."

"Why?" Dad asked.

"This used to be your nursery, Sam," Missouri explained. "This is where it all happened."

My head automatically looked up towards the ceiling, as if expecting to see Mom or Grandma up there burning to death. Of course, the only thing that greeted me was the stark white ceiling.

It seemed too surreal, being here. In a way, I'm glad that Missouri insisted that I came along. In another, I kind of wished Dad would have won that battle and that I would be safe in the car right now. I'd even do my schoolwork.

The others immediately went to work. Uncle Dean pulled out his EMF while Missouri did her psychic thing. She walked around a bit, but stopped mid-step when she noticed Uncle Dean. "That an EMF?"

"Yeah."

Missouri rolled her eyes. "Amateur."

Uncle Dean glared at her, looking like he was about to say something. However, he just clapped his mouth shut and focused on the EMF.

I stuck close to Dad. I had a bad feeling about this—this being confirmed by the EMF suddenly going haywire.

"I don't know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this isn't the thing that took your mom."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

Missouri nodded.

"How do you know?" Dad demanded, sounding pretty annoyed.

"It isn't the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It's something different…"

"What is it?" Uncle Dean asked.

Missouri ignored his question as she walked across the room and opened the closet door. She walked into the closet, studying every nook and cranny.

"Not it—_them_. There is more than one spirit in this place."

"What are they doing here?" Uncle Dean asked, not missing a beat.

"They are here because of what happened to your family," she said, walking out of the closet. She stopped in front of the three of us. "You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And, sometimes, wounds get infected."

Wait, how did you go from talking about evil SOBs to infectious wounds? Did I miss something here?

"I don't understand," I said.

"This place," Missouri explained, "is a magnet for paranormal energy." She quickly turned to look behind, as if whatever is haunting this place will suddenly pop-out behind her. "It has attracted a poltergeist." She shook her head. "A nasty one and it won't rest until Jenny and her babies are dead."

"You said there was more than one spirit," Dad quickly added.

"There is," Missouri cried, walking back into the closet. "I just can't quite make out the second one."

Silence filled the room as Missouri continued to walk around. I looked between Dad and Uncle Dean, trying to get some sense of what was going on, but they both remained impassive.

"Well," Uncle Dean said, finally breaking the silence, "one thing's for damn sure. Nobody's dying in this house _ever_ again." He took a steadying breath before continuing. "How do we stop it?"

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"What is all this stuff, anyway?" Uncle Dean inquired, pointing to the pile of "stuff" in the middle of the table. There really wasn't another word to describe it. Just…stuff.

"Angelica root, crossroads dirt, and a few other odds and ends," Missouri explained, continuing to bustle about to get more items.

"What are we supposed to do with it?" Uncle Dean asked.

"We are going to put it inside the walls in the north, south, east and west corners on each floor of the house."

Uncle Dean snorted. "Holes in the drywall. Jenny's gonna love that."

Missouri gave Uncle Dean yet another glare, the umpteenth simply today. "She'll live," was Missouri's only comment on that.

"And this will destroy the spirits?" Dad asked.

"It should," Missouri said. "It should purify the house completely. We'll each take a floor, but we need to work fast. Once the spirits realize what we're up to, things are gonna get bad."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

And boy did they get bad.

Once night had fallen, Missouri ushered Jenny and her two kids out of the house, giving them sweet words of comfort that we'll have everything handled.

"Okay," Missouri said, "Sam, you take the upstairs. Dean, the ground floor. That'll leave me and Liz to the basement."

I figured Dad would object since he doesn't like the fact that I am here at all. Ever since the run-in with the shape shifter, he has been cutting me out of all things danger related. I still have to do the research and the training and all that boring crap, but there was no way in hell I was going near any sort of monster. I don't know what Missouri said to get Dad to allow me to come, but she must have threatened him with a wooden spoon, much like she had Uncle Dean.

But, his instincts must have told him that I would be safer with a psychic that had a broader sense for the supernatural than he did because I found myself going down towards the basement with Missouri.

"Be careful," Missouri warned, as we slowly descended the stairs. "Your daddy will have my head on a platter if a hair on your pretty little head is harmed."

I snorted. That actually wasn't too far from the truth.

The smell of dust and mold grew strong, making my allergies go haywire. My vision began to cloud because of the tears and it took a lot of willpower not to sneeze.

Once Missouri found the best location for the purification bag, she walked towards it with me right on her heels.

"Why don't you go find a place to put this on that wall," she whispered. She handed a bag off to me before adding, "And try not to sneeze. It would help."

I nodded. I took the bag and headed over towards the wall she pointed to. Thanks to a lack of compass and generally sense of direction, I had no clue if this wall was north, south, east or west. To me, it was just a wall.

With difficulty, I found a crack in the wall just big enough for me to stuff the bag into it. By the time I was done, Missouri had place two of them and was working on the third.

I slowly walked over to her, my head going haywire thanks to my allergies. Maybe I should invest in some over-the-counter stuff after this is all done.

Missouri bent down and placed the last bag. As she stood up, something caught her eye.

"Please, don't—" but her words were cut off by a sneeze that I couldn't hold back.

We were pinned to the wall by an old trunk. Missouri and I were trapped between the cement wall and the trunk, no doubt by the poltergeist's work.

"Dammit," I swore, fighting my way out of the trunk, but it was no dice. The poltergeist's invisible force kept me and Missouri in place.

The trunk seemed to be pushing harder towards us. Soon it was difficult to breathe and it felt like my ribs were about to break.

"Relax," Missouri said, through gritted teeth. "I have a feeling Sam and Dean are almost finished with their floors."

God I hope so. I blanked out for a second. I don't think I can hold on much longer.

As if someone cut a cord, the force on the trunk slackened. Missouri and I went tumbling to the floor, gasping for air.

"It's gone?" I asked, once I had my breathing in order.

"Yes, it should be," Missouri said.

I wasn't so sure, but I didn't voice my opinion. We slowly made our way to the ground floor. Each step was like fire to my ribs. I don't think any of them are broken, but one or two might be cracked, but I wasn't sure.

Once we made it to the ground floor, everything was a mess. The table in the kitchen was upturned and there were knives protruding from it and random bits of debris were strewn everywhere. It looked like one of those pictures of a house after a natural disaster hit.

And, technically, there was one here.

Dad and Uncle Dean were leaned against the counters, both looking utterly exhausted. Dad had a bright red line along his neck like something tried to choke him. But, for all intents and purposes, he looked fine.

"It's over," Missouri said, leaning against the table.

As if her word wasn't good enough, Dad and Uncle Dean did a once over. There were no more flying objects. There were no more crazy flickering lights or scratching at the walls. Other than the mess and holey walls, no one would suspect that something freaky went down here.

"Are you sure it is over?" Dad asked, after Uncle Dean knocked over some glass.

"I'm sure," Missouri said, probably double-checking her "sixth sense." "Why do you ask?"

That is, in all honesty, a stupid question. Of course he would ask if everything was okay. He was, after all, a trained hunter. I even had doubts that this thing wasn't completely gone.

"Never mind," Dad whispered, obviously disliking the question. "It's nothing, I guess."

I wasn't so sure.

The lights flashed on in the hallway. A hesitant, "Hello," greeted us as Jenny and her two kids walked in. "We're home."

I bit my lip. Once she sees the mess in the kitchen and in the other rooms, she'll probably be hysterical.

At least, I would be if two men, a teenage girl and a psychic tell me that they are going to fix my house and, in reality, it is a total pigsty.

She looked at the food protruding from the fridge and the knives in the table. "What happened?" she asked, breathless.

Well, this was awkward.

"Hi—sorry—um…" Dad said, obviously trying to come up with something. "We'll pay for all of this." Uncle Dean gave Dad a "what-the-hell-did-you-just-say" face that would be, during any other given situation, priceless.

"Don't you worry," Missouri chimed in. "Dean's gonna clean up this mess."

You know all is right with the world when Dean is, yet again, in the blunt end of Missouri's never-ending quips.

When Uncle Dean didn't move, Missouri turned to him. "What are you waiting for, boy?" Uncle Dean looked like he was a deer caught in headlights. "Get the mop. AND DON'T CUSS AT ME!"

I didn't hear him say anything, so it must have been part of his internal monologue. He gave one more look to Missouri before turning and getting to work.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

After we dropped Missouri off back at her place, I was happy to settle for another smelly cot in some nameless motel. However, it seemed that Dad had other plans.

As always.

"Go back," he ordered Uncle Dean.

"Why?" Uncle Dean asked, staying on course to the nearest motel.

"Because, I have this…feeling."

"You always have a feeling," Uncle Dean said.

"Dad," I said, shifting closer to the front of the seat, "you heard Missouri. She said that the place passed inspection. What more of a reassurance could you want?" Yeah, I had this inkling feeling that something isn't right, but sleep sounds a lot better than staying up all night watching nothing happen.

"Hey, watch your attitude," Dad barked. "And I can't shake this feeling."

"This should be over." Uncle Dean said.

"I just want to make sure."

But, in the end, Dad won. Uncle Dean turned back towards the house. We sat there in complete silence as we watched the house for any signs of paranormal activity.

"To think I could be in a bed right now," I muttered, leaning against the cool glass. It was almost inviting—a comforting voice that said, "Yes, Liz, fall asleep. You know you want to…"

But I felt the panic tear through me. I immediately sat up, any lingering signs of sleep gone. I looked at Uncle Dean and Dad, waiting for orders. But none immediately came.

Where had that feeling coming from? Dad and Uncle Dean were oddly calm, despite whatever was making my senses go haywire.

At least, I didn't know until Dad looked up at the house.

"DEAN!"

The two of them were flying out of the car so fast, I could barely keep up. I barely understood why we were running into the house.

"Grab the kids, I'll get Jenny," Dean ordered as we set off into the house, any lingering signs of sleep gone.

We pushed our way inside and raced up the stairs.

"Get Ritchie, Liz," Dad ordered as the three of us went our separate ways to save the family.

Ritchie's room was farthest from the stairs, but I understood why Dad made me get him. He was focused on getting Sairie, who was in his old room.

With the poltergeist, of course.

I pushed the door open to Ritchie's room. He stood up in his crib, crying his little eyes out. I immediately grabbed him, whispering sweet words to get him to calm down.

I ran down the stairs with Dad hot on my heels with Sairie.

Once we got to the bottom, Dad stopped suddenly. I turned just in time for him to hand me Sairie.

"Liz, take them," he ordered.

I was about to question why when something jerked at his ankles and dragged him towards the kitchen.

It was hard to tell who screamed: me or Sairie.

After realization settled in, I put them both down. "Sairie, take your brother outside and don't look back!" I ordered. There was no way in hell that I was going to let Dad take on this thing without back-up.

As if some invisible fist grabbed me, I was thrown into the kitchen and crashed into the counter. I rolled onto the ground with a groan.

I struggled to stand, not completely ready for another wave of attack. I heard a crash behind me and I turned to see Dad crash into the spice rack above the oven.

"DAD!" I shouted again, limping towards him. I attempted to help him stand up, but another force sent him flying into the door while I was sent soaring through the window.

I rolled onto the dewy grass. My face and hands were cut up, but the rest of me was protected by my jeans and jacket. I knew for a fact that at least two of my ribs were broken and I twisted my ankle pretty badly. Of course, the worst thing was probably all the blood that was clouding my vision from a forehead wound.

The last thing I wanted to do was get up, especially with my head injury. But, my Winchester stubbornness prevailed and I found myself standing up like a fawn during its first steps.

Somehow, I wobbled back to the window I just crashed through. I shimmied my way past the broken shards of glass and fell into a heap on the floor. I groan passed my lips when I landed on my leg awkwardly.

A fiery being rounded the corner. It was heading towards Dad, who was still pinned to the door. "Sam! Liz!" I heard Uncle Dean call as he made his way towards the kitchen.

Uncle Dean turned towards the fiery being and pointed a gun right at it. I struggled to stand up, to stop him. I had a theory on what the fiery being was, and it sure wasn't a poltergeist.

"No! No! Don't!" Dad warned.

"What?" Uncle Dean shouted, gun still pointed at the fiery being.

"Because I know who it is," Dad admitted. "I can see her now."

In the wake of the fire was a beautiful blonde woman, whom I have only seen in old photos of Dad's.

Uncle Dean slowly lowered the gun when he realized who it was, a look of disbelief written on his face.

"Mom…"

She beamed at him. I gave up on my struggle to stand, not wanting to ruin this perfect mother/son-and-son moment by, well, being the confused granddaughter.

She slowly walked towards him.

"Dean…"

It was hard to understand the onslaught of emotions that I felt, only to realize that they might not be entirely my own. There was confusion, hurt, sadness and, most importantly, happiness.

Grandma walked passed Uncle Dean and stopped in front of Dad.

"Sam…"

Dad struggled against his tears and his silent sobbing. There was hardly any happiness, just sadness and…relief?—relief to finally meet his mom—relief that there is help—relief that maybe not all hope is lost in the world.

I didn't understand it.

But I felt tears well up in my eyes just the same.

"I'm sorry…"

"For what?" Dad struggled to ask her.

She never answered him. She just turned away from the two of them, looking at the ceiling the entire time.

"You get out of my house," she commanded. She was yelling or didn't even sound angry. I have a feeling that she was one of those people that if they give an order, you couldn't help but obey. "And let go of my son."

She suddenly burst into flames, making me cringe from piercing brightness. Her flame intensified as it shot up into the ceiling and disappeared almost as quickly as she appeared.

Dad settled onto the ground, breathing heavily. We all looked up at the ceiling. I slowly got to my feet, with help from the windowsill.

I looked around, grasping what just went down. The emotions just stopped completely. I couldn't even identify my own—if I could comprehend anything in that moment.

I hobbled over towards Dad and Uncle Dean. They both looked at me with concern before Dad pulled me closer to him in a too-tight bear hug.

"Now it's over," Dad said, barely above a whisper.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The day was oddly calm after a strenuous night—physically and emotionally. There were, of course, no discussions on what went down, only a silent agreement to get Missouri to double-check the house after failing the first prognosis.

"Well, there are no spirits in there—this time for sure," Missouri announced, sitting next to me and Dad on the porch steps.

"Not even my mom?" Dad asked, his face unreadable.

She shook her head. "No."

"What happened?" he asked.

"Your mom's spirit and the poltergeists energy canceled each other out," Missouri answered, solemn. "Your mom destroyed herself going after the thing."

"Why would she do something like that?" Dad asked.

Really, was he really that blind?

"To protect us," I said, not even sure that was the right answer in Missouri's mind. It probably was. "She loved us, which is why she sacrificed herself so we could get out of there alive."

Dad was taken aback. "When did you become so philosophical?"

I shrugged. "It's what either one of us would have done."

Dad pulled me into a hug. "I know."

I felt like I just de-aged about seven years. I felt like the five-year-old who was reluctant to go to kindergarten because Dad couldn't be there with me. In the moment, I wasn't a teenager who grew up too fast in such a short time. I was Liz—Sam's baby girl.

Tears began to pool my eyes. I wasn't a crier, unless it was because of sappy movies that only a soulless person wouldn't cry during. These tears, however, were my sadness and my joy.

"Sam, Liz, I'm sorry."

I completely forgot Missouri was there. I was lost in this chick-flick father-daughter moment. It's a good thing Uncle Dean wasn't around since he would probably be calling us sissies and asking whether we wanted cream or sugar in our tea.

"For what?" Dad asked.

"You both sensed it was here, didn't you—even when I couldn't?"

Well, the moment was over—plagued by the mystery that is me and Dad's freaky psychic thing.

"What do you mean we both sensed it?" Dad asked. "I thought I was the only freak."

"You aren't a freak, Sam," Missouri said, bluntly. "But I have a feeling that Liz felt it to, but was just ignoring the warning signs."

"Is this true, Liz?" Dad asked.

For having a love of the stage, I hate being the center of attention—especially negative attention.

"I might have felt something," I admitted. "I guess I just didn't understand it."

Not a total lie.

But even if Dad believed it, there was still Missouri since she could spot a lie over a mile away.

"What's wrong with us?" Dad asked.

Missouri hesitated in answering. "I know I should have all the answers..." She shook her head. "I dunno."

"Sam, Liz, you ready?" Uncle Dean called, as if on cue. It was a curse and a blessing at the same time.

Wordlessly, Dad and I stood up. Missouri, however, stopped me halfway up.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to talk with Liz for a second."

Dad nodded and headed towards the Impala.

I sat back down next to Missouri, confused as to what she could possibly say to me.

"You need to tell them," she said.

"Tell them what?" I asked, faking innocence. I knew there was no point, but it was easier to act innocent then to admit being guilty.

"You know perfectly what," Missouri said, giving me her famous stink-eye. "You are worried about what happened with the shifter when you entered your daddy's head on accident and how you keep having the same nightmare over and over again. And just last night when you felt the poltergeist's presence and, even when your daddy admitted to feeling it, you didn't say anything. Why? What do you possibly have to gain from keeping all this a secret?"

I didn't have an answer for her. I didn't have an answer for myself, to tell the honest truth. I might avoid thinking about it at all costs, but it is still there. It's looming over me and, no matter how hard I try, it doesn't go away.

"I don't know," I finally croaked. Earlier, I felt younger. Now, I feel older than Dad. "I just don't know how to explain it to them without it sounding so…screwed up."

Missouri sighed. "Listen, Liz, and listen good. I was about your age when my psychic powers started to settle in. Now, the psychic gene tends to skip a generation, so it went from my Grammy to me, skipping my daddy. Every now and then, Grammy would ask me if there was something different going on with me. For a few years, I answered honestly: no. It wasn't until I was about your age when my psychic abilities began to settle in."

"I began to be able to read people's thoughts and sense other energies, and it is a lot for a teenage girl to handle, mind you. Of course, the next time Grammy asked me that, I said 'no', because I was afraid that, even in her eyes, I would be labeled a freak."

"But, that makes no sense," I said. "Your Grammy was a psychic and you're a psychic, so that wouldn't make you a freak."

Missouri smiled down at me. She remained silent for a while. At least, until I realized what she was getting at.

"You're saying it would be better for me to tell Dad because he is going through the same thing and he can help."

"You're a smart kid, Liz," Missouri said. "Just don't let that smarts get you into too much trouble." Uncle Dean honked the horn to get our attention. He was obviously growing impatient. "And tell that boy that patience is a virtue and maybe he should get some."

"I will."

"Also," Missouri said, handing me a white card—her business card, "call me anytime—day or night—if you ever need someone to talk to. I know that living on the road with two quote-unquote men is hard on a teenage girl, but you can call me whether it is about your abilities or whether the boy at the coffee house has a crush on you."

I laughed. "Thanks Missouri," I said. I tried to walk away, but it seems that she wasn't going to let me leave without a hug.

"Things will get better, Liz," Missouri said. "Now that I can promise."

I smiled and nodded. "Thank you."

For such a short distance, it certainly felt like miles before I made it back to the infamous metallicar. I climbed into my usual spot in the back and sat down.

"Now you don't be strangers," Missouri called.

"We won't," Uncle Dean said somberly.

"See you around."

Uncle Dean started the car and we wordlessly began heading down the street. I looked back at Missouri until I could no longer see her.

"What did she want to talk to you about?" Dad asked.

I sighed, trying to formulate the right answer. I know that I should follow Missouri's advice and tell him everything that happened, but I didn't know how to. How did I even explain my odd power to enter people's mind unwillingly. I didn't even know the full extent of it, since it only happened once and the other person he was dealing with when he thought it was me was a shifter.

"She just wanted to let me know that everything will be okay," I said—again, not a total lie. "And she told me to keep Uncle Dean in line."

He snorted. "Yeah, like that'll ever happen."

"You know, Liz," Dad said. "You can tell us anything." He turned around in his seat to face me. "I know Dean and I aren't quite up-to-date on what you are going through."

"Nor do we want to," Uncle Dean commented, which got him a slap in the arm by Dad.

"What Uncle Dean was trying say was that we are here for you. I don't know what is up with us, but we just need to be honest with each other about this. It's going to be the only way we are going to get some answers."

Again, between Missouri's heavy words and Dad's devotion to figure this shit out, I considered telling him. But I just…couldn't.

"Don't worry Dad," I said. "I will."


	8. Miracle

**Chapter VIII - Miracle**

Now, I am not going to lie: I have always thought that Dad and Uncle Dean were invincible. They've been through so much crap in their lives that they just had to be—invincible, I mean. I never expected either one of them to die.

At least, until I got the infamous phone call.

It was late. I had no clue what time. I was in a motel room by myself while Dad and Uncle Dean took care of a raw head. It was while I was working on an English assignment that my phone went off.

"Hey Dad," I said, staring intently on the screen, trying to figure out what the difference between a simile and a metaphor. I knew one of them had 'like' or 'as', but which one?

"Hey Liz," Dad said, sounding rather gloomy—which wasn't saying much, since this was my dad.

"What's wrong?" I asked. The similes and the metaphors were forgotten.

Dad sighed, but didn't say anything. "Dad?" I asked, trying to get answers.

"It's Dean," he said. "Something happened on the hunt. He was electrocuted by a taser while he tried to kill the raw head. We're at the hospital now."

My heart sank to my feet. "Is he okay?"

"I dunno," he said, flatly. "They haven't told me much."

"Which hospital? I'm sure I can get a cab at this hour."

"Just stay where you are," Dad ordered. "I'll keep you posted when I get information. Just stay there."

"Okay," I falsely vowed, "I promise. Just, call me when you get news."

I closed my phone and stared at it while a million different possibilities ran through my head on what could happen to Uncle Dean—none of which were pleasant.

I closed my computer and grabbed my phone and wallet. Dad might have told me to stay put, but when have I ever obeyed orders that I didn't agree with? I have to do something—I can't just sit here twiddling my thumbs.

At the phone booth just outside the motel, I found the location to the nearest hospital. I was relieved that it was only a couple blocks away. It would be faster to walk there than to hail down a cab.

It was a cold night and I regretted only grabbing a sweatshirt for protection. I walked quickly because of the cold and because it was the middle of the night. I don't know what I was more worried about: some sort of supernatural freak or white vans.

On the walk there, my mind was whirling with unanswered questions. I sent a silent plea to some sort of higher power that Uncle Dean will be okay.

I made it to the hospital without a hitch. However, I was confused as to where I was supposed to go. The ER would make the most sense, but there was the ICU and other areas of the hospital. I didn't have much experience with hospitals and, when I had to go someone was always with me to navigate.

So, I followed the signs to the ER waiting room. When I walked inside, I was greeted by a stark white room. The first person I saw was Dad standing in front of the nurse's station. My eyes lingered towards the two uniformed officers standing there, obviously waiting for him.

Cautiously, I walked over to Dad.

"Sir, I'm so sorry to ask," the nurse said, "but there doesn't seem to be any insurance on file."

"Oh, alright…um…" Dad reached for his wallet and pulled out a fake insurance card. I know it was fake because, well, everything we have is fake.

The nurse accepted it and said, "Okay, Mr. Berkovitz."

I snorted. I guess we are suddenly Jewish.

Dad did a double-take when he saw me. "Liz, I told you to stay at the motel."

"Yes you did," I said, bluntly.

Dad took the insurance card back and was about to chew me out when the police officers approached us.

"We can do this later, if you like."

"No," Dad said, still glaring at me, "no, it's okay." He sighed. "We were just taking a short cut through the neighborhood. The windows were rolled down and we heard some screaming when we drove past the house. We ran it."

"And you found the kids in the basement?"

"Yeah."

"Well thank God you did."

A doctor began to approach us. Dad must have recognized him because he said, "Excuse us," and began heading towards him.

"Hey doc, is he—"

"He's resting," the doctor said. "The electrocution triggered a heart attack—a big one. I'm afraid his heart is damaged."

No!

"How damaged?"

"We've done all we can," he admitted. "We can try to keep him comfortable at this point but I give him a couple weeks, a month at most."

A month. Uncle Dean only has a month!

No.

He's supposed to be invincible.

I can't lose anyone else.

"No, no, no," Dad cried, "there's gotta be something you can do. Some kind of treatment—"

The doctor shook his head. "We can't work miracles. I really am sorry."

Wordlessly, Dad stomped down the hallway. It took me a second to realize that he had left before I started running after him. He didn't stop until he made it to Uncle Dean's room.

To be honest, Uncle Dean looked like shit. He had dark circles under his eyes and was hooked up to more machinery then I could identify. He was flipping through channels on a little television.

Seeing him like this made it a million times worse. I felt my throat close up and breathing became difficult.

And what did Uncle Dean have to say about this:

"Do you ever watch daytime TV? It's terrible."

Under any other circumstance, I would roll my eyes at Uncle Dean being "witty." However, I couldn't help but smile weakly. Only he would be making jokes during his time of dying.

Dad sighed and shook his head in response. "I talked to your doctor."

"That little fabric softener teddy bear—oh, I'm gonna hunt that bitch down."

"Dean."

"Yeah," Uncle Dean sighed, turning off the television. "Alright, well, it looks like your gonna leave town without me."

It was amazing how callous Uncle Dean was being right now. It's almost like he didn't care that he was dying. I mean—HE WAS DYING!

"What are you talking about? I'm not gonna leave you here."

"Hey, you gotta take care of that car or I swear I'll haunt your ass."

"I don't think that's funny."

"Ah, c'mon. It's a little funny."

Silence filled the room. The only sound was coming from one of Uncle Dean's many machines. I didn't even notice that I was crying until I tasted the saltiness in my mouth. I tried hiding behind my hair, afraid of looking weak.

"Look, Sammy, what can I say, man? It's a dangerous gig and I drew the shortest straw. That's it. End of story."

"Don't talk like that, alright? We still have options."

"Yeah, burial or cremation."

I couldn't take it anymore. I ran from the room, hoping no one would notice. I didn't stop until I reached the restroom. Running into a stall, I bent down and retched, emptying my stomach of its contents.

I might have only known Uncle Dean for a few months now, but he was still family. Knowing that he was suffering and going to die was just horrible. Dad had already lost Mom. God only knows what'll happen to him if we lose Uncle Dean as well.

I don't even know what'll happen to me.

Once the heaving calmed down, I flushed the toilet and just sat there for a while—unable to move, unable to think.

Someone knocked on the door. "Liz, you okay?"

"Yeah Dad, I'm fine," I lied.

I slowly stood up and walked woodenly to the sink. The cool water that I splashed on my face felt good. Trying to muster up whatever pride I might have left, I left the bathroom.

Dad, who was previously leaning against the wall, stood up when he saw me. We stood there in uncomfortable silence before he said, "I'll find a way to save Dean."

"I don't doubt it," I said. It didn't make me feel any better, but it gave me a tiny fraction of hope that maybe—just maybe—everything will work out.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"You don't need sleep my ass, Dad," I yelled at him. "You have been up since we got back from the hospital three days ago." I didn't mention that I have been unable to sleep either, but I at least made the effort to pretend to.

"Watch your language, Liz," he said, his mind completely focused on all the documents that surrounded him about the heart and different healing remedies and such. For the past few days, he has been searching and searching for a way to save Uncle Dean. He's been calling people almost nonstop from contacts found in Grandpa's journal. He was being secretive about his findings, so I had no clue if he was even getting close to finding a cure or not.

"But, Dad—"

"Mary Elizabeth please just…just let me do this, okay? Just…go do your schoolwork or something."

I sighed deeply and opened my computer. I exited out of the window that held my schooling, since there was no way I was going to be able to focus on it.

In fact, I didn't do anything at all, really. I just stared at my colorful desktop wallpaper, not really seeing it. I was lost in my own little world—emphasis on _lost_.

Dad stood up abruptly and wordlessly walked into the bathroom. He hadn't moved from the spot in hours. It actually looked odd seeing him walk.

I heard him talking on the other side of the door. My curiosity spiked. Who could he be calling? Maybe he was calling someone who might have answers.

Cautiously, I tip-toed across the room and pressed a tentative ear to the door.

"—its Dean…he's sick and uh…the doctor says there's nothing they can do. Um…but uh…they don't know the things we know. Um…so don't worry. I'm going to do whatever it takes to get him better. Alright…just wanted you to know."

A knock on the door made me jump. With my heart pounding, I slowly walked towards the door.

"Liz," Dad warned, opening the door to the bathroom. "I'll get it."

I shuffled aside so he could get past. He hesitated at the doorknob for a second before he opened the door.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I could see who was at the door past my dad, the Sasquatch. But the moment the newcomer spoke, I immediately recognized him.

"I signed myself out," Uncle Dean said as he slowly entered the room, using the wall to keep him vertical.

"Are you crazy?" Dad asked.

"I'm not going to die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot."

I rolled my eyes. A typical Uncle Dean-ism.

"You know this whole," Dad closed the door as he thought of the right words, "'I laugh at the face of death' thing. It's crap. I can see right through it."

"Yeah, whatever dude," was Uncle Dean's reply. "Have you even slept? You look worse than me."

"Nope," I replied. "Trust me—I have tried."

"Don't doubt you haven't," Uncle Dean said. "But try harder next time, will yah, Lizzie."

I let that one slide. To be honest, I didn't mind it when he and Dad called me Lizzie. It is just sort of reflex that I tell them off for it.

"I've been scouring the internet the last three days," Dad said, helping Uncle Dean into a chair. Dad sat down on the bed and I sat down next to him. "And have been calling every contact in Dad's journal."

"For what?"

"A way to help you," Dad answered with a no-duh sort of attitude. "One of Dad's friends, Joshua, he called me back about a guy in Nebraska—a specialist."

"You're not going to let me die in peace, are yah."

Dad smiled. "I'm not going to let you die period."

Uncle Dean shook his head. It didn't take a psychic to know that he didn't think this was a good idea.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The drive to Nebraska was uneventful. With the huge elephant in the car with us, any sort of conversation was few and far between. Not even music could get me out of this.

Dad drove down the muddy road that led to a white tent. All sorts of sick people were heading towards the tent with determination. My throat clenched at the very sight of it all. I felt sorry for all those who were suffering right now.

We climbed out of the car—Uncle Dean was more conscious of his movements. I helped him up, his gaze transfixed on something behind me.

"I got it. I got it," Uncle Dean said, once he realized I was helping him. Once Dad made it to us, Uncle Dean looked him square in the eye and said, "You're a lying bastard, you know that. I thought you said we were going to go see a doctor." He slammed the car door shut. I was surprised that he was being so rude to his precious baby.

I turned to see what all the commotion was about. In front of the white tent was a teal-ish sign that read:

_The Church of Roy le Grange_

_Faith Healer_

_Sundays 11AM and 2PM_

_Witness the Miracle_

"I believe I said specialist," Dad said. I stepped out of the way and let them lead. No way was I going to be in the front lines of this one. "Dean, this guy is supposed to be the real deal."

"I can't believe you dragged me here to see a guy who heals people out of a tent."

"Reverend le Grange is a great man," a police officer said as we passed by. He was talking with a man who was clearly upset.

"I have a right to protest," the man countered. "This man is a fraud, conning people out of their hard-earned money.

"This is a place of worship. Let's go."

"I take it he's not part of the flock," Uncle Dean said.

"When people see something that they can't explain, there's controversy," Dad said.

"Sam, a faith healer?

"Try to have a little faith, Dean."

"You know what I have faith in: reality. Knowing what is really going on."

I didn't blame Uncle Dean in the respect. I'd like to think that there is some higher power at work here. But in the same respect, how do we know?

"Why are you being skeptic? We see things every day."

"Exactly! We _see _them. We know they're real."

"But if you know there's evil in the world, why can't there be good too?"

There is good in the world. But there are also scams—and this one feels weird to me. If I have learned anything after months of being on the road with Dad and Uncle Dean, it is to trust my instincts.

But there was no way in hell I was going to get between those two.

"Because I have seen what evil does to good people."

"Maybe God works in mysterious ways."

The cute blonde seemed to appear from nowhere. She stood underneath an umbrella, smiling at us.

"Maybe he does," Uncle Dean said, sounding like a total moron. Was he trying to hit on her or something? "I think you just turned me around on the subject." Yes, yes he was hitting on her.

Dad rolled his eyes. "Typical Dean," he mouthed to me.

"I know," I silently replied.

"Yeah, I'm sure," she said.

"I'm Dean," he said, holding his hand out, "this is Sam and this is Liz."

"Layla," she said, shaking his hand. "So, uh, if you're not a believer, why are you here?"

"Apparently my brother here believes enough for the three of us."

Dad smiled intently at him. In some ways, I guess Dad did believe enough for us. However, I don't like how Uncle Dean just assumes that I don't believe since I didn't put a word in that I did or not.

"C'mon Layla, it's about to start." An older woman appeared. If I had to guess, I would say that the newcomer was Layla's mother.

The mother smiled widely at us before she ushered her daughter towards the tent.

"I bet she could work in some mysterious ways," Uncle Dean said.

I shook my head. The only thing I can say is that Uncle Dean will always be Uncle Dean.

We walked into the white tent. It was pretty crowded and there were hardly any seats left.

"Man, peace, love and trust all over," Uncle Dean muttered, looking up towards something. I turned and saw a security camera. I guess even people who see only good in people don't trust everyone.

Uncle Dean went to sit down in the back, but Dad stopped him.

"We're sitting up front," Dad said.

"I want to sit here," Uncle Dean countered.

I'm on Uncle Dean on this one. I hate sitting up front for anything: church, school, even in movie theaters and stage productions. I just can't stand it.

"What? Why?"

"C'mon."

"Oh, c'mon Sam."

They began walking down the aisle. I thought about hanging back and taking a seat where Uncle Dean had intended. But Dad gave me the gesture to move along. Sighing in annoyance, I obeyed.

"Are you okay?" Dad asked Uncle Dean as he helped him walk down the aisle.

"Dude, get off me," Uncle Dean whispered, smacking Dad's arm away.

Dad backed off. "Dude, perfect," Dad said, pointing to the last three seats available that were close to the front.

"Yeah, perfect," Uncle Dean muttered as the three of us took our seats. Dad made Uncle Dean take the aisle seat.

At the front, a nicely dressed man in sunglasses was getting ready to start the service. By the looks of it, he was the reverend and…was he blind?

"Each morning," he began, "my wife, Sue Ann would read me the news. Never seems good, does it?"

"No," was the main consensus from the audience.

"Seems like there is always someone committing some immortal, unspeakable act. But I say to you, God is watching. He rewards the good and punishes the bad—the corrupt."

That statement makes me wonder where Dad, Uncle Dean and I land. We do good things, but we need to do some bad things in order to do the good. Does it all balance out or something?

A ripple of agreement rippled through the audience.

"It is the Lord who does the healing. The Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into the people's hearts."

"Yeah, or their wallets," Uncle Dean muttered.

"You think so young man?" Reverend le Grange asked. I repressed the snort. Reverend le Grange: 1. Uncle Dean: 0.

All eyes turned in our direction. I looked the other way, pretending like I didn't know him.

"S-sorry," Uncle Dean said.

The woman in front of us—who I identified as Layla's mom—gave Uncle Dean a scolding look.

"Don't be," the reverend said. "Just be careful what you say around a blind man. We have sharp ears."

Some people from the crowd laughed and I noticed a smile play on Uncle Dean's lips.

"What's your name, son?" the reverend asked.

"Dean."

"Dean," Reverend le Grange repeated. "I want—I want you to come up here."

The crowd began to cheer. Wait…does that mean that Uncle Dean…_was going to get healed_?

"Nah—no, it's okay."

If I had to say one word about Uncle Dean, it would not be humble.

_So why was he being humble now?_

"What are you doing?" Dad asked him.

"You came here to be healed, haven't you?" the reverend asked.

All eyes were on Uncle Dean as he said, "Uh…yeah, but—" The crowd began to cheer for him again, "—maybe you should pick someone else."

I think I should take a page from Missouri's book and beat him with a wooden spoon.

"No, no, no. I didn't pick you, Dean. The Lord did."

Uncle Dean continued to hesitate. "Get up there," Dad ordered, almost shoving Uncle Dean out of his seat.

Almost against his will, Uncle Dean stood up and slowly made his way to the platform. I almost couldn't believe it. Uncle Dean was going to be _healed_—he wasn't going to die!

"Pray with me friends," the reverend announced.

What was I supposed to think? Dean God: Please heal Uncle Dean even though he is supposed to die, amen?

I just went with it.

Reverend le Grange lifted his hands up in an empowering gestured. With one of his hands, he reached out to Uncle Dean and awkwardly placed his hand on Uncle Dean's face. I could obviously see Uncle Dean's distastefulness towards it.

It seemed like everything happened very quickly but also very slowly. We sat there looking at Reverend le Grange and Uncle Dean for what seemed like hours until, in a blink of an eye, Uncle Dean was on the ground.

"DEAN!" Dad cried, running towards the platform. I was right on his heels.

Oh God, please no!

Dad shook Uncle Dean, almost begging him to wake up. Once Uncle Dean came around, he seemed dazed and confused.

"Dean, say something!"

But Uncle Dean's eyes were transfixed on something behind me. I turned to see what was so fascinating, but I only saw Reverend le Grange….

...But I felt a presence that shouldn't be here.


	9. Witness

**Chapter IX - Witness**

"So you really feel okay," Dad asked for the umpteenth time since we took Uncle Dean to the clinic to double-check the reverend's work.

"I feel fine, Sam," Uncle Dean said, his voice lacking emotion. I don't know about him, but if I was given a second chance like he did, I would probably be a little happy that I didn't have a set death-date.

I tried to focus on some out-dated gossip magazine. This thing was so old it talked about Mandy Moore's upcoming world tour. Did she just fall off the map a few years ago? Of course, my mind kept returning to what happened earlier with Reverend le Grange, the healer, and the fact that _Uncle Dean wasn't going to die_.

"Well, uh…" the doctor walked in, looking at a clipboard that held Uncle Dean's test results, "according to your tests, there is nothing wrong with your heart—no sign that there ever was." The doctor sighed. "Not that a man your age and health stats should have heart trouble." She shrugged. "Strange, it still happens."

"What do you mean strange?" Uncle Dean asked.

"Just yesterday, a guy like you—forty, physically fit—died of a heart attack."

Some sort of light bulb went off in Uncle Dean's head. I have a feeling that the two of us have the same theory: somehow, Uncle Dean being healed of a heart attack could have triggered someone else to have one.

"Thanks doc," Uncle Dean said.

"No problem." The doctor left, leaving the three of us alone.

"Well…isn't that odd," Uncle Dean said.

"Maybe it's just a coincidence," Dad said. "People's hearts give out all the time, man."

"No they don't."

"Look Dean, do we really have to look this one in the mouth? Let's just be thankful that the guy saved your life and move on."

"I have to agree with Uncle Dean on this one," I said. "Something just isn't right, here."

"What is wrong with you guys?" Dad asked.

Answer: too many things to list.

"Look, I just can't shake this feeling, that's why," Uncle Dean replied, not really answering Dad's question.

"What feeling?" Dad whispered. For once, he was out of the psychic loop.

If whatever Uncle Dean was feeling was at all psychic. I just know I felt something funky back there.

Uncle Dean shrugged on his coat. "When I was healed," he went on to explain, "it felt…wrong. I felt cold and for a second I saw someone—a man. I'm telling you, Sam, it was a spirit."

So, I did feel something back there—a spirit, according to Uncle Dean.

But I still wasn't sure that it was a spirit.

"But if there was something there, me and Liz would have seen it too," Dad countered. "We have been seeing some weird stuff lately."

"Why do you automatically assume that I didn't see it?" I asked him.

"Did you?"

"Well…no, not really. But I _felt_ something odd."

"I guess Sam isn't the psychic wonder we all think he is. Maybe you should have a little faith on this one."

Dad still didn't look convinced.

"I have been hunting long enough to trust a feeling like this. Between that and Liz's…_feeling_, I think we can come to the conclusion that something is seriously not right here."

Dad gave a small little chuckle, like something Uncle Dean said was funny. "Alright," Dad said, with a sigh, "what do you want to do?"

"You go check out the heart attack guy and I'll go visit the reverend," Uncle Dean said.

"And I'll…?"

"Be at the motel room," Dad answered for me.

Of course.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

It seems like every time something bad is going to go down, I'm rejected to either the Impala or a motel room. I feel like I am just some nuisance that Dad and Uncle Dean are forced to deal with while they do their job.

Maybe Dad should have let me live with Aunt Natasha, that way I would be out of their hair and they can focus on the hunt.

I tried to focus on school. I still haven't figured out the difference between a metaphor and a simile and I really, _really_ hope Dad doesn't notice that I completely bombed my algebra test.

_Define foreshadow…_

I rolled my eyes. _An event that takes place that predicts what might happen later on_.

AKA: my life.

"Hey Liz," Dad said upon entering the motel room.

"What did you find out?" I asked, my ever-curious mind wondering what happened.

Dad sighed. "Liz, I'd rather not get into this right now."

"Dad, I just want to know," I said, getting defensive. "You always tell Uncle Dean what you find out, why can't you tell me?"

"Because it's his job—not yours," Dad argued, throwing his jacket onto the chair by the table. "You should be focusing on school." Dad's eyes narrowed at me. "Speaking of which, why did you get a D on your last math test?"

_Because I was too worried about you and Uncle Dean on the last hunt you guys were on_, was my original answer. But I went with the typical, "I did my best."

"Liz, your grades have been slipping. Back in Palo Alto, you were practically a straight-A student. What happened?"

I slammed my computer shut in irritation. "Where have _you _been in the last few months if you have to ask a question like that?"

"Don't get mouthy with me," Dad warned. "I'm not the one with barely passing grades."

"Well _sor-ry_ if I'm not the perfect little student that you were."

Dad sighed. "I wasn't perfect—"

"Then don't expect me to be!"

"I don't expect you to be perfect. I expect you to do your best and I damn well know that having a C-minus-average is not your best."

"What does it matter? I'm pretty much stuck with this life."

"No, you're not. I got out and went to college."

"Yeah, and look how well that turned out. You got Mom knocked up, had me and now we have freaky psychic powers that we don't understand."

"Look, that might not have been ideal. But I still got out of this life."

"Yeah, and got shoved right back into it."

"This is _my problem_. This isn't _your problem_. I am going to make damn sure that this isn't your life."

"Maybe it is, Dad. You and Uncle Dean are always complaining about the Winchester curse. News flash, Dad: I'm a Winchester!"

"Don't think I don't know that! But this isn't your fight."

"Yes, it is," I cried. "I watched Mom die on the ceiling. This is just as much my fight as it is your fight."

Dad's face fell. "Liz, I'm sorry. I—"

"Don't be," I interrupted, grabbing my jacket from the couch.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Out."

Just as I was about to leave, Uncle Dean opened the door. I shoved past him, determined to get away from Dad. However, I doubt that I could ever get far enough away.

I stepped outside and was hit by the cold. It was raining anymore, but a chill hung in the air. I pulled my jacket tighter around me. Why didn't I grab the thicker one?

I didn't realize that I was crying until I unconsciously wiped them away. Dad and I never fought like that. The biggest thing that we have ever really argued about was whether to have French toast or pancakes for breakfast.

I would give anything to have that life back. Back then, I thought life was difficult between school and friend issues and Mom and Dad actually expecting me to be responsible. It might all seem so meager now, but that sure as hell beats hunting and the skeevy motel rooms and the stupid psychic powers.

I sat down on the nearest bench. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the one number that I have memorized over the years.

"Hello," Mrs. Jackson's voice rang through the speaker.

"Hey, it's Liz. Is Lily there?"

"No, she isn't." My heart sank. "She's in school right now…which is where you _should_ be."

Mrs. Jackson wasn't a huge fan of me in the first place, since I was the one who introduced Lily to horror movies. Now, since we had to explain to her what Dad and Uncle Dean do for a living, she probably thinks I'm demon spawn or something. "Can you just have Lily call me back when she gets home?"

"Alright," Mrs. Jackson said. Without another word, she hung up.

I slammed the phone shut. Well, that conversation did nothing to help me.

"_How did I get here…how the hell?_

_Pan left, close to the remains of my life"_

That made me smile. _Halloween_ was one of my favorite songs from _RENT_ and it recaps what has happened so far in the musical. It is such a simple song but it has so much meaning behind it as well. But, maybe I am just overanalyzing it, like I always do.

"_How did I get here...how the hell?_

_Halloween…Halloween last year"_

Although it would fit the title song better, it just doesn't have the same ring to it.

"_Why did Uncle Dean knock on our door?_

_And Dad chose that moment to reconnect with his past?_

_Why did Mom have to die?_

_Why am I the witness and when I try to do the right thing_

_Will it mean that this will never end and I am lost?"_

I used to think Mark Cohen would be an amazing part to play on _RENT_.

Now I realize that it sucks.

I didn't know how long I sat on that bench.

"Mind if I sit here?"

I turned sharply to see Uncle Dean standing next to me. He motioned towards the spot next to me on the bench. I nodded my reply, not really trusting my voice.

Uncle Dean sat down with a sigh. "Sam told me what happened."

I didn't say anything.

"I remember him and Dad were always at each other's throats," Uncle Dean continued. "A day didn't go by where I had to be the mediator and stop them before they harmed themselves or others." He sighed. "I guess I always hoped that you two were different since you didn't grow up with a drill sergeant for a father."

I snorted in annoyance. "I guess J.K. Rowling was right: history always repeats itself."

"What?"

"Never mind," I said. "It's just…ever since this whole thing started, I feel like Dad is forgetting that I exist and is only focused on finding Grandpa and whatever killed Mom and Grandma. I mean, he stopped being a father, just like yours did."

Uncle Dean placed a tentative hand on my shoulder. "This job will do that to people. That's one of the reasons why Sam got out in the first place. That's one of the reasons why he wants you to go to college."

We tapered off into silence. I had no clue what to say about that. Dad was only looking out for me and I reacted like a total bitch.

"I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be apologizing to me," Uncle Dean said.

"I know but…I don't know if I can face him. I'm not great with awkward confrontation."

"Now, I'm surprised by that. You always stand up for what is right."

"There's a difference between standing up for what is right and dealing with the shit you've created."

"Look, short stuff, life is all about dealing with shit."

"I'm not going to be short forever," I countered. "I mean, look at my parents."

"Yeah, whatever you say," Uncle Dean said, rolling his eyes. "But, still, you need to talk to Sam, whether you want to or not."

"Why?"

"Because, you love each other and I don't want you two to end up like Sam and Dad."

"When did you get so wise?" I asked.

"Almost dying will do that to a person." Uncle Dean smirked. "And the fact that I am amazing helps to."

I rolled my eyes. "I hope you realize that you just totally ruined this moment."

"Good, I hate chick-flick moments," Uncle Dean stood up. "How about you and Sam kiss and make-up and then we go get some food—I'm starved."


	10. Unnatural

_Author's Note: I am SO sorry about the lateness of this chapter. I have a feeling that an every other day post isn't going to happen now that school has started and I have to have a social life now. This may be a weekly update, but I'll try my best to update early. ~Julie_

**Chapter X - Unnatural**

It was hard to tell how long I just stood at the door that led to the motel room. No matter what, I just could not bring myself to walk through that door and apologize. I was thankful that Uncle Dean hung back to give me and Dad a chance to make peace without him being…well, _himself_.

Finally, I gained the courage to open the door. I don't know where it came from, but it must have come from somewhere…obviously.

I stepped inside and Dad looked up from his computer. We just stared at each other, neither one of us knowing how to continue with this awkward confrontation.

"I'm sorry," we said concurrently.

The awkward silence continued for a few moments, neither one of us really knowing what to say.

Dad cleared his throat. "I think we both said some things that we'd like to take back."

I nodded.

"I shouldn't have freaked like I did," I said. "You were just wondering about my grades."

"And you being curious is just natural." Dad cracked a smile. "God knows how much I annoyed my dad with my constant questions and always questioning his authority."

Dad stood up and walked over towards me. I lifted my head up so I could see him eye-to-eye. I didn't know what to expect—certainly not a hug like the one I received.

"I never wanted this for you," Dad admitted. "I remember the first time I held you in the hospital. I promised you that you would never know this world. I failed you, Liz."

I shook my head. "You didn't fail me." My voice was muffled because I had my head buried in his jacket. "You couldn't have kept me in the dark forever—especially with these abilities we seem to have."

Dad, somehow, hugged me tighter. It was difficult for me to breathe, but I didn't care. "We'll figure it out."

"I know we will…" I felt tears well up in my eyes. "But, Dad, I haven't been completely honest with you."

I pulled away from his hug and forced myself to look up at him. His hazel eyes were full of confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Look, I…" It was hard to find the right words to explain it all. "Remember the shifter a few weeks back?"

Dad nodded. "What about it?"

"When the knocked me out and kidnapped me, I sort of…" I tapered off, still unable to find the right way to describe it without having to answer a thousand and one questions.

"Sort of what?"

"Sort of was in your mind that morning."

The confusion written on Dad's face deepened. "What are you talking about?"

"Dad, I was physically in the sewer, but I was in your mind—which is the only way I have found to explain it. I was there when you first woke up, I saw the shifter as me and the conversation you had with Uncle Dean."

"Wait…you saw everything."

"Yes."

"_Everything _everything."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Dad. Everything."

"So, you heard what I said about how I thought about having you live with Natasha."

I nodded.

Dad looked ashamed, like this was his entire fault. He wasn't the one who was in someone's mind without an invitation. Granted, I didn't like how he was talking about me behind my back, but I have accepted long ago that there will be back talking no matter what.

"Look, I…I could never leave you with someone else. You would have been better off in the long run if you weren't in the middle of this mess. But I have a peace of mind that you are here and that I can protect you."

I had no clue what to say to that. "Just so you know, I'd kick your butt if you left me at Aunt Natasha's. I love her, but…I need you."

Dad nodded. "And don't worry about these preternatural powers we seem to have. Whatever is going on, we'll find a way to fix it." Dad pulled me into yet another hug. "I promise you that."

I wish I could. I wish I could believe what he is saying. I just couldn't. I was scared. What did these powers mean? Are they just naturally there like Missouri's?

I didn't know what to think or what to believe.

"Okay Dad," I mumbled, hoping he didn't hear the discouragement in my voice.

Someone behind me cleared his throat. I turned to see Uncle Dean leaning against the doorframe, looking at the scene with mild amusement in his eyes.

"If you two are done, I'm starving."

"Yeah, let's go get something to eat," Dad agreed as the three of us walked out of the motel room together.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

We didn't discuss the case as we sat at the nearest diner. In fact, I barely knew what we were talking about. We just talked and joked and…acted like we were human for once.

Don't get me wrong, I still felt Uncle Dean's unease about the faith healer and there definitely was something Dad was telling me about it. But they both put on a mask, for all of our benefits, and pretended that everything was okay.

When we got back to the motel room, I knew that Dad and Uncle Dean needed to focus on the case at hand. So, staying out of it, I picked up the book I started reading a couple of days ago and attempted to focus on it.

However, the thing about motel rooms is that there is not privacy. So, I ended up hearing the entire conversation about what is going on with the faith healer.

"What did you find out?" Uncle Dean asked Dad.

Dad, who was typing away on the computer, looked up at Uncle Dean. "You're not going to like it, but Marshall Hall died at 4:17."

Uncle Dean thought for a moment, trying to put two and two together. "The exact same time I was healed."

"Yeah," Dad concurred. "So, I put together a list. Roy has healed six people over the past year and cross-checked them with the local obits. Every time someone was healed, someone else died. And each time the victim died of the same illness of the person that Roy was healing at the time."

I slowly looked up from my book. I know—I know I promised to stay out of it. However, this was too big and too personal for me to just sit by the sidelines. It must be a Winchester thing.

"Someone's healed of cancer then someone's killed of cancer."

"Yeah. Somehow, le Grange is trading one life for another."

"Wait…so Marshall Hall _died_ to save me."

Dad hesitated, trying to find the right way to lessen the blow that proves that there was an innocent's life on his hands…even if he wasn't the one who physically killed him.

I wasn't going to pretend that I would be okay with trading lives for someone else—why should I expect Uncle Dean to act the same.

"Dean, the guy probably would have died anyway and someone else would have been healed."

Uncle Dean quickly stood up. "I knew you shouldn't have brought me here."

Dad was taken aback. "Dean, I was just trying to save your life."

"But, Sam, some guy is dead because of me," Uncle Dean deadpanned.

"I know," Dad admitted. "What I don't understand is how Roy is doing it. How is he trading a life for a life?"

"Oh, he's not doing it," Uncle Dean replied. "Something else is doing it for him."

"What do you mean?" Dad asked.

"The old man I saw on stage—the being that Liz apparently felt—I didn't want to believe it, but deep down I knew it."

"Knew what?" Dad asked. "What are you talking about?"

"There is only one thing that can give and take life like that," Uncle Dean said.

"We're dealing with a reaper."

The silence in the room was deafening. That theory actually made sense. But, it was weird that the first thing that came to my mind when Uncle Dean said "reaper" was _The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy_.

"So, what? We're dealing with a walking, talking skeleton wearing a black robe and carries around a scepter?"

"What?" Uncle Dean seemed bewildered by my question. "No."

"Are you thinking like angel of death…collect your soul kind of thing? _The_ reaper?" Dad asked.

"Where the hell are you guys getting your information? Cartoon Network?" Well, yeah. "I'm not talking about _the_ reaper—_a_ reaper." Uncle Dean shook his head as he started going through the minute collection of books, looking up anything and everything to do with reapers. "There is pretty much some sort of reaper in every culture on earth. It goes by a hundred different names. It's possible there is more than one of them."

"I think you saw a dude in a suit," Dad said.

"What? You like Liz's _ better?" Uncle Dean asked him. "You said it yourself that the clock stopped." He held out a book that had a picture of a reaper in it. "Reapers stop time. And you can only see them if they are coming after you which is why I could see them and you couldn't."

"But I _felt _it," I said. "How could I _feel_ it when it wasn't even after me?"

That one stumped Uncle Dean. "I dunno," he finally admitted. "Maybe it's your psychic thing. If you have it, shouldn't Sam?"

"Not necessarily," Dad said. He went on to explain the incident in St. Louis. I was happy I didn't have to repeat it.

"That's pretty fucked up," Uncle Dean said. "I mean…you enter minds."

"Involuntarily," I said, dryly.

"Still…creepy."

"Dean," Dad warned, using his _not-helping_ bitch face.

"What, just saying."

"Okay, can we get back to the hunt," I said, already sick of them talking about me. I knew I shouldn't have told Dad the full extent of my powers.

"Gladly," Uncle Dean said. "As I was saying, there is nothing else it could be. The question is how is Roy controlling the damn thing?"

"I dunno. Voo-doo," I suggested.

"Don't you mean hoo-doo?" Uncle Dean asked.

"What?"

"Voo-doo doesn't exist. There is southern hoo-doo, but that is very rare."

"No…it's the cross," Dad said.

"Cross? What cross?" I asked.

"There was this cross," Dad said, pulling out a set of tarot cards that we, for some reason, have. So, voo-doo doesn't exist, but tarot cards are useful. Good to know. He rifled through the deck until he found the one he was looking for. "Here," he said, handing it to Uncle Dean.

Over his shoulder, I studied the card. It was of a skeleton with orange robes standing in front of a cauldron type thing and held a staff with a cross at the top.

"Tarot?" Uncle Dean asked as if Dad had lost his mind.

"It makes sense," Dad said. "Tarot dates back to early Christian era when priests were still using magic. A few of them veered into the dark stuff like necromancy and how to push death away and cause it."

"So Roy is using black magic to bind the reaper," I said, putting the puzzle pieces into place.

"If he is, he's riding the whirl-wind. It's like putting a dog leash on a great white."

Uncle Dean slammed his fist down onto the table in annoyance and stood up to put his used cup in the sink. He leaned against the counters in a casual way, but I could almost see the wheels turning in his head in thought.

"Okay, do we stop Roy?" he asked.

"How?" Dad asked.

"You know how," Uncle Dean said, his face completely impassive. He was acting like this was a no-brainer answer even though it seemed like a trick question.

"We can't kill Roy," Dad said.

I mentally kicked myself for over thinking it…again.

"Sam, the guy is playing God. He's deciding who lives and who dies. That's a monster in my book."

"No. We are not going to kill a human being," Dad argued. Uncle Dean rolled his eyes. "We do that, we are no better than he is."

"Okay, we can't kill Roy and we can't kill death. Any bright ideas, family guy?"

Honestly, I am glad that I don't have to be part of the decision making. I am also not choosing sides. I claim Switzerland and all the chocolate in that country.

"Uh…okay. If Roy is using some sort of black spell on the reaper, we've got to figure out what it is and how to break it."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Uncle Dean parked the Impala in the muddy parking lot of the white tent. Knowing how creepy this place can be, I really didn't like being back here again. If it was up to me, I would—for once—opt to stay in the motel room. However, Dad thought it would be less conspicuous if I tagged along, since I was there when Uncle Dean was first healed.

"If Roy is using a spell there might be a spell book," Dad said, while the three of us climbed out of the muscle car.

"See if you can find it," Uncle Dean ordered. He looked down at his watch. "Hurry up. The service starts in fifteen minutes. Liz and I'll try to stall."

"Alright," Dad said. He looked like he was about to add more, but a protester stopped us just before then.

"Roy le Grange is a fraud," he exclaimed.

"Amen, brother," Uncle Dean muttered as the two of us walked past him and towards the white tent. I have a feeling that this was going to get pretty interesting.

Uncle Dean and I slowly walked with the crowd into the white tent. Not even five minutes from parting ways with Dad did Uncle Dean receive a phone call, most likely from him.

"What do yah got?" Uncle Dean asked. I leaned in close, in hopes of hearing whatever Dad had to say, but Uncle Dean shoved me away.

"Fine, be that way," I muttered.

Uncle Dean listened for a moment. "The guy in the parking lot?"

A few seconds later, Uncle Dean slammed his phone shut and looked expectantly at the front of the stage where le Grange was getting ready for his service.

"What's going on?" I whispered.

"We gotta stop Roy," Uncle Dean answered, studying the stage. I wonder what kind of plan he could be formulating, because I was as confused as hell on how we were going to do this.

Wait…he did say "we", right?

"Layla. Layla Rourke," le Grange called.

My heart sank. If I had no idea about how le Grange traded lives to heal people, I would be happy for Layla right now. For the brief moment I met her, she was a really nice girl. I wonder what she needed to be healed for. But, whatever is plaguing her, she deserved to be healed—just not at someone else's expense.

The crowd cheered her on to go up front. I found her amongst the crowd and she was beaming. It made my heart ache that we had to prevent this girl from getting her life back.

She and her mom stood up and hugged each other tightly. "Oh man," Uncle Dean moaned, obviously torn like me about stopping this healing.

As Layla pranced towards the front, Uncle Dean stopped her.

"Layla, you can't go up there," Uncle Dean warned.

"Why not?" she asked. "I've waited for months."

"You can't let Roy heal you."

"I don't understand. He healed you, didn't he? At least let him try."

"If you do, something bad is going to happen," Uncle Dean said. "I can't explain it. You just have to believe me."

"Layla, c'mon," Mrs. Rourke egged her daughter.

Layla looked between Sue Ann, her mother and Uncle Dean, not knowing who to follow.

"Please," Uncle Dean said, almost pleading.

After one last glance at her mother, Layla looked back at Uncle Dean. She shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"Wait, Layla, you have to believe us," I said. "Pastor le Grange isn't the man you think he is."

Ignoring me, she walked to Sue Ann and the crowd cheered for her.

"Dammit," Uncle Dean muttered under his breath. Le Grange started the healing process. But, I noticed how Sue Ann snuck away. It was weird how she wasn't sticking around to see her husband screw with death.

I was about to point that out, but Uncle Dean ushered me back towards the entrance of the white tent.

"What are you doing?" I whispered. "Shouldn't we stop le Grange?"

"I am," Uncle Dean answered. In a booming voice, he cried, "FIRE! HURRY! TENT'S ON FIRE!"

"You are a genius," I muttered, hoping he didn't hear me.

"FIRE!" I joined in. "EVERYBODY GET OUT OF HERE!"

Mrs. Rourke was freaking out. Not because of the nonexistent fire, but because her daughter's healing was interrupted. Layla just looked about the room, confused.

"Friends, uh," le Grange said while two people helped him to the exit, "if you all could just leave in an orderly fashion."

Uncle Dean whipped out his phone and, no doubt, dialed Dad's number. I didn't even bother to try and eavesdrop on the conversation. Uncle Dean would just shove me away again.

"We did it—stopped Roy." A few seconds later. "If Roy isn't controlling, then who the hell is?"

I looked back at where Sue Ann disappeared off to. I pointed in her direction and Uncle Dean followed my signal.

"Sue Ann," Uncle Dean said, slamming the phone shut.

We headed down the aisle. I stayed behind Uncle Dean, still confused as to what the plan actually is.

I wish there was time to fill me in on things like this.

Uncle Dean tapped on Sue Ann's shoulder and she whipped around, looking like a deer in headlights. She clutched her cross necklace like it was a life preserver.

"HELP! HELP US!"

Ah, shit.

Wait…us?

She grabbed me as if I needed to be saving. A police officer came and tackled Uncle Dean. We both struggled to break free—neither one of us were successful.

For an old lady, she sure had a firm hold.

Two police officers escorted Uncle Dean out and Sue Ann and I followed them. Sue Ann had a strong arm around my shoulder.

She leaned in real close to my ear.

"Do anything funny and you'll be the next victim," she whispered menacingly.

"I don't understand," Sue Ann said, sounding like a disappointed mother. "After everything we've done for you. Roy healed you." She shook her head. "We're very disappointed in you."

I locked eyes with Uncle Dean. _Don't know me,_ I mouthed, hoping he'd catch on.

He nodded slightly in understanding.

"You can let him go. I'm not pressing any charges. The Lord will deal with him as he sees fit."

We walked away, her arm still around my shoulders.

"That was stupid. Taking me, you know," I said. "You really don't want to mess with Uncle Dean and my dad."

The woman only smirked. "I'll take care of them."

I have a feeling that "taking care of them" won't be a good thing.


	11. Defiance

**Chapter XI - Defiance**

"Where the hell are you taking me?" I asked, keeping up with Sue Ann's crisp pace.

"Such vulgar language from such a young child," she mused. "That isn't the way to grow up with two men. No wonder."

I felt like punching the bitch. She made it sound like Uncle Dean and Dad were a gay couple.

Oh my God! Ew! Bad mental images!

"Just shut up," I said. "You know nothing about my life."

"I know enough that you are troubled," Sue Ann said.

She stopped us next to Roy and Mrs. Rourke. "Private session tonight," Roy said. "No interruptions. I will heal your daughter."

"Thank you Reverend," Mrs. Rourke said, breathlessly. Her eyes lingered on me for a second. The seemed like daggers that were trying to stab me. "God bless you," she said, instead of something vile towards me for ruining her daughter's healing in the first place.

Someone cautiously slipped a piece of paper into my jacket pocket. I didn't have to turn to know it was Uncle Dean. I acted nonchalant, not wanting to give Uncle Dean's position away.

Mrs. Rourke walked away, leaving me with Sue Ann and Roy.

"And who do we have here?" Roy asked. How did he know I was here? I haven't said a word.

"This is Mary Ellen," Sue Ann said. Mary Ellen? Really? "Her parents abandoned her, so I decided we should bring her in until we can contact social services."

Roy smiled. "Welcome, Mary Ellen. I'm sorry to hear what happened, but I can assure you that you are in good hands now."

I just stood there, motionless.

"I'm sorry," Sue Ann said. "She is a bit shy."

"Nothing wrong with that," Roy said. "C'mon. We'll give you a tour of our home."

I unwillingly followed them. Sue Ann released her grasp on me to guide Roy back to their home. I thought about bolting, but decided against it. Sue Ann did hold the power to send me six feet under.

Their house, for being in the middle of nowhere, was nice. It looked exactly like a reverend's home would be like—crosses nailed to the walls and paintings of Virgin Mary and Jesus everywhere.

"I think I'll go rest now," Roy said, once we stepped into the kitchen. "You can give Mary Ellen a tour."

"Yes, of course," Sue Ann said. She guided her husband away and I stood in the kitchen. I knew that running away would be stupid.

I remembered the piece of paper Uncle Dean slyly placed in my jacket pocket. I pulled it out and read the messy scrawl.

_Liz – We'll stop her. Don't worry. Just lie low and don't give her a reason to piss her off._

I only truly believed in one-third of that note. I believed that Dad and Uncle Dean will stop her.

Sue Ann walked back into the kitchen and I quickly crumpled the piece of paper in my first, hoping she would notice.

"Now, I'm going to lay down some ground rules."

"Okay," I said.

"You will not tell Roy who you really are," Sue Ann said. "And thank you for not speaking. Keep that up in case he recognizes your voice."

Note to self: speak the next time I see the reverend.

"Second," she continued. "I have a feeling that your dad and uncle are going to try to stop us tonight. You better pray that they don't."

"Or what?"

She smirked. "One of them will pay the ultimate price."

My heart sank.

"You wouldn't," I threatened.

"Don't tell me that," she said. "I have already killed countless sinners. What's one more?"

"If you kill my dad or Uncle Dean I swear to God that I will kill you myself."

Before I knew it, Sue Ann had me pinned against the wall. With her hand around my throat, it was difficult—almost impossible—to breathe.

"Don't swear to God," she said. "I am doing holy work here. Healing those who deserve it and punishing those who don't."

If God saved us from half of the people who thought they were doing His work, life would be a lot easier.

She released me. "Now, there is a spare bedroom down the hall and to the left. You will not try to escape and you certainly won't interfere with what is happening tonight."

I just glared at her. "You won't get away with this," I said, my voice hoarse from the chokehold.

"I already have," she said, dragging me towards the spare bedroom. She shoved me inside, closing the door promptly behind me.

"Where's my phone call?" I asked her.

Sue Ann ignored me. I heard her walking back towards the main living area, probably preparing whatever she needs to do for tonight.

The wait was unbearable. I was stuck in a simple room with only a queen size bed, a dresser with nothing in it and a bookshelf full of religious books. What I would give to have my laptop right now. Hell, I'll even voluntarily do my homework.

I really hoped Dad and Uncle Dean can stop this woman. She was mentally insane. Who knew what this woman had in store for either Dad or Uncle Dean. She threatened to kill one of them, but who?

Slowly, the sun began to set. Before I realized it, the sun was completely down and nightfall had settled in.

A knock came from the other side of the door. "Mary Ellen, may I come in?" Sue Ann asked in a fake-nice voice.

I didn't say anything. She took the silence as a yes and strolled inside.

"Roy and I will be off," she said. "Don't even try to escape. I'll know and—more importantly—God will know if you do."

"Yeah, God'll be cheering me on," I said, crossing my arms.

She wordlessly closed the door behind her.

I sat on the bed, keeping time in my head for when it would be safe to try and sneak out of here. I had to give her and Roy a few minutes before I attempted to break her rules.

When I thought it was about ten minutes later, I cautiously opened the door. Sue Ann probably should have locked the door so it wouldn't be this easy to sneak out.

The house was completely dark. Thanks to my trained eyes, I was barely able to maneuver my way around the house. It helped that it was a simple layout, for Roy's sake.

I made it to the front door. Silently singing the Halleluiah chorus, I opened the door and walked out onto the porch….

…Right into my Dad.

"Liz!" I yelped in surprise.

"Nice to see you too," I said.

He pulled me into a hug. "I'm sorry that you were kidnapped." He pulled away and assessed me. "You are okay, right? That bitch didn't do anything to you, did she?"

"I'm fine," I assured. "I'm a Winchester, remember?"

Dad rolled his eyes. "Too much so, apparently."

"Where's Uncle Dean?" I asked.

"Keeping the po-po away," Dad said. I rolled my eyes. Parents should NOT use modern lingo. It is just wrong.

"Okay," I said.

"You didn't see a black altar inside, did you?"

"A what?" I asked.

Dad sighed. "Did you see something that looked totally out of place?"

"Well, they have horrible taste in furniture, but I am pretty sure that is not what you are asking."

"Liz."

"No, I didn't see anything that would constitute as _freaky_," I said plainly.

"Let's just have a look-see," Dad said, handing me a knife. "You should probably start caring one of those around in case anything happens to you."

_Too little too late_, I thought. I would have said it aloud, but I think I gave him enough sarcasm for today.

"Thanks," I said, following Dad inside.

The preliminary search of the house brought up nothing. We checked all the rooms. Nothing remotely like a black altar was in this house.

Dad and I walked back outside. "It's gotta be around here somewhere," Dad said, mostly thinking out loud.

I walked over to the side of the porch. I noticed iron doors leading towards the basement. An orange glow was seeping between the cracks.

"Uh…Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I know where her black altar thingy is," I said, pointing to the basement.

"Good," Dad said, running down the porch steps. I quickly followed.

Dad opened the doors to the basement. I tried to look inside, but his Sasquatchian frame was in the way. Wordlessly, we climbed down the stairs.

There were candles burning on a small shelf by the bottom of the stairs. Looking out towards the room, my first thought was that it looked exactly like any other basement: full of shit no one needs but is kept anyway.

We kept our eyes vigilant as we looked for the altar. It was placed behind some fencing—fairly obvious since the candles were lit. We quickly made our way towards it. There were odd objects and candles surrounding it, but the picture in the very middle made my heart stop.

It was a picture of Uncle Dean with a red "x" though his head.

Dad slowly picked up the picture and stared at it.

"No," I whispered.

"I gave him life." I turned sharply around to face Sue Ann who snuck up behind us. Uh oh. "I can take it away."

Dad and I didn't even hesitate. We each took a side of the altar and, with all of our strength, pushed it over. All the contents on the altar were strewn all over the floor.

We ran after Sue Ann, but she made it to the exit before we could catch her. She slammed the doors to the basement shut as if it would stop us.

Dad, who was a couple paces ahead of me, slammed his weight into the door.

It would budge.

I added my momentum to his. Still no dice.

"Don't you two see?" Sue Ann shouted. "The Lord chose me to reward the just and punish the wicked…. And your brother is wicked."

This made us push harder. There was no way we were going to let her kill Uncle Dean.

"He deserves to die just as much as Layla deserves to live."

Dad stepped back from the doors and ran towards the other side of the basement. I stopped pushing, knowing that there was no way I could open this thing by myself.

"Goodbye Sam. Goodbye Liz," I heard her say before sauntering off.

"Liz, c'mon!" Dad shouted. I turned to see him use an old piece of piping to break an old window. I ran to him and he shouted, "There is no way I can fit through there."

"Okay, I'll crawl through and get the basement door open," I said.

"No," Dad said, "you need to go and stop Sue Ann. All you have to do is destroy the cross. She should be powerless then."

I hesitated. "I…I can't—"

"Yes you can, Liz," Dad assured. He grabbed my shoulders and looked down at me. "You're a Winchester, remember?"

Breathing heavily, I walked over to the window and jumped up. With Dad's help, I wiggled my way through the hole, being careful of the lose glass from when it broke.

Once I was completely outside, I turned back to Dad. "You'll most likely find her by the tent where she can still keep an eye on Roy."

"Okay," I said, running off towards the tent. I wove my way between cars as I made my way towards Sue Ann, hoping that I wasn't too late to save Uncle Dean.

I spotted Sue Ann near a back entrance to the tent. She clutched the cross with white knuckles and was quickly speaking in Latin.

Not wanting her to hear me, I slowly down my pace and planted my steps carefully. When I was just a few feet from her, I went into a full on sprint and grabbed the cross from her hand.

She stared at me as I threw the cross to the ground and stepped on it. I was expected some huge, powerful explosion to happen. However, it just cracked into a million tiny pieces with some red liquid oozing out from it.

"My God, what have you done?" she shrieked, kneeling down to survey the damage.

"That's what you get for playing God, bitch," I said, crossing my arms.

A shiver ran down my spine. I knew it wasn't from the cold—I was used to the cold. It was the same kind of feeling I had when Uncle Dean was healed yesterday.

The reaper.

"NO!" Sue Ann cried, staring in horror at thin air. She must be looking at the reaper. That must mean the reaper was now after her.

She turned to run, but she stopped mid-step. The chill in the air grew stronger as Sue Ann slowly sank down towards the earth. I just stood rooted in place. There was nothing that I could do to stop this.

Sue Ann's face slowly turned grey and her breathing was ragged. In a matter of seconds, Sue Ann le Grange drew in her last breath and sank to the ground.

I woodenly walked away, my mind completely numb. It took me a while to make it back to the basement to free Dad. I removed the plywood Sue Ann used to trap us inside and opened the door.

Dad walked out. All it took was one look at me and he knew what had happened. He put a comforting arm around me and said, "Let's go find Dean."

We found him over by the Impala. He looked just as bad as me.

"Hell of a week," Uncle Dean said, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Dad and I agreed.

"Alright," Dad sighed, "we should get going."

Neither of us hesitated climbing into the Impala and driving off.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

We could literally cut the tension in the room with a knife. The three of us were still on edge over the events that took place just last night as we tried to pack up our things. The sooner we get away from this place, the better.

"What is it?" Dad finally asked Uncle Dean. I had to give him a hand for having the balls to actually talk to Uncle Dean.

What is with our family and angst?

"Nothing," Uncle Dean replied.

"What is it?" Dad repeated, seeing past Uncle Dean's façade.

"We did the right thing here, didn't we?" he asked.

"Of course we did," Dad said without hesitation.

Uncle Dean shook his head. "It didn't feel like it."

A knock on the door broke the brotherly moment. Since I was closer to it, I was the one to open it. On the other side of the threshold was Layla. I was taken aback by her visit.

"Hey Layla," Dad said as if he was expecting her. "C'mon in."

Uncle Dean immediately stood up.

"Hey," Layla said.

"Hey," Uncle Dean said. "How'd you know we were here?"

Layla crossed the few paces it took to make it to Uncle Dean. "Um…Sam called. He said you wanted to say goodbye."

Uncle Dean gave Dad a look.

"We're…uh…gonna sorta…." Unable to think of an excuse, Dad shoved me out of the room and into the hall. He closed the door behind him so we could leave Layla and Uncle Dean to talk about whatever they needed to talk about.

"C'mon," Dad said, "let's go grab a soda from the vending machine."

I nodded in agreement. I followed him down the hall towards the vending area.

"I feel bad for her," I said.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Dad said. "But no matter how you justify it, what Sue Ann was doing was wrong."

"Still," I said. "Layla is such a sweet girl. What is happening to her is just…horrible."

Dad sighed. "No matter how much she deserves to live, it is just the natural order of things. Some people are lucky to live—some people are unlucky and die before they should."

I don't think this conversation isn't about Layla anymore…if it was ever about Layla in Dad's mind.


	12. Ensnared

_Warning: Chapter contains material that may not be suited for children or virtuous adults!_

**Chapter XII - Ensnared**

"Got any fives?"

Dad shook his head. "Go fish."

Sighing, I grabbed the top card from the pile. "Nope," I said, placing the queen of diamonds in my hand.

Next to him on the table, Dad's phone began to buzz. After flipping the phone open, he said, "Hello," into the microphone. After a few moments, Dad said, "Okay, fine. See you in the morning," Dad said, slamming the phone shut in annoyance.

"Uncle Dean?" I guessed.

"Yeah," Dad said. "He's going to be busy tonight so he won't be back until morning."

"Is that code for he's sleeping with someone?"

Dad rolled his eyes. "Really?"

"What?" I said. "Blame primetime TV."

Completely ignoring that last statement, Dad asked, "Do you have any aces?"

I growled and threw him the ace of spades. He placed the pair down next to his others.

Dad continued to slaughter me until we were out of cards. I consider myself lucky that I have seven pairs.

"I'm going to bed," I said. That was the third game I lost to him tonight. I really hate this string of bad luck I've been having.

Dad just chuckled. "No one likes a sore loser, Liz."

Like the professional I am, I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Go to bed," Dad said, grinning.

"Fine," I said. "Wait…since Uncle Dean won't be here tonight…can I have his bed?"

Dad shrugged. "I don't see why not."

I smiled widely. Finally, I get a night where I don't have to sleep on the cot. Granted, it was still a lumpy, musty motel bed, but it was a million times better than my usual.

Dad walked into the bathroom, most likely to take a shower, and I snuggled into the comforter. Normally I have a bitch of a time falling asleep. Lately, it has been from lack of comfort since most of the nightmares and freaky mind-rape (Uncle Dean's words, not mine) thing stopped.

Of course, I spoke to soon.

After a few moments, I was lulled to sleep by the sounds of the shower. I always fall asleep faster when it was raining. This was just an artificial version of it.

Of course, it was only a moment of peace since my nightmare dragged me away.

The heat from the passionate kiss was searing. The hands toyed with the slender body, exploring certain part of the anatomy. The intense sensation of pure ecstasy filled the entire being.

What the hell is going on?

Slowly, they broke away. The eyes blinked open and I looked into the jade eyes of a beautiful woman with light brown hair and ivory skin.

Shit, I was in Uncle Dean's mind while he is getting it on with this chick.

"Come with me," she said, her voice melodic and playfully demanding.

Oh, God, NO!

Uncle Dean smirked at the beautiful woman. The two of them stood up and the woman guided him out of the living room and down the hall towards the master bedroom.

I attempted to escape his mind. I mentally pulled away, but it was futile. I was stuck in Uncle Dean's fucked up mind.

Kill me now.

Uncle Dean mischievously pushed the woman onto the bed and very nearly fell on top. The woman effortlessly removed her slinky t-shirt and threw it onto the ground. With nimble fingers, Uncle Dean removed her bra as if he had done it a thousand times.

There was no escape. I saw what Uncle Dean saw. I felt what Uncle Dean felt. There was no closing my eyes and blocking it all out.

I was about to mentally lose my virginity before my body does.

Only _that_ would happen to me and as a _guy_ no less.

The woman tore Uncle Dean's jacket off, but left the t-shirt removal to him. She stared in awe at his toned body.

Like a lion pouncing on its prey, the woman pushed Uncle Dean over so that she was on top. He didn't object. He actually preferred it that way.

Okay, I did _not_ need to know that.

Uncle Dean's hands explored the woman's body, starting at her hips and working his way up to her breasts. He cupped them and teased her nipples. She ran a hand down his back. He shivered in pleasure.

Slowly, Uncle Dean's kiss went from her lips down her neck. He lingered momentarily at a mole between her shoulder and collar bone. He continued his way downward until he reached her breasts. Her body arched against him as he teased her nipples with his tongue.

The need grew too strong. He needed her and he needed her _now_.

Wake up, Liz.

Please wake up.

Dammit, why won't I wake up?

Quickly, he began to undo the fly on her pants. A fiery passion flared up in her eyes as she shimmied out of her jeans, carefully placing her hips against his so the movement caused him more pleasure.

If I had my own physical body right now, I would be blushing so freaking hard my entire face would be red.

The woman chuckled at Uncle Dean. "Why are you blushing?"

"I'm not blushing," he denied. "I just need you so much, Renée."

So, her name is Renée.

Knowing that makes things, someone, ten times worse.

In a matter of seconds, he had his pants off. They both pulled each other's underwear off. This was the point of no return. At this point, I would have official lost my mental virginity and whatever I had left of my innocence.

Out of nowhere, the annoying ring of a cell phone broke through the sounds of pleasure. Uncle Dean growled in annoyance.

"Ignore that," he said. "It's nothing important."

Answer it! Please answer it!

Moments later, the cell phone went off again. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Uncle Dean knew something was wrong. Dad knew that Uncle Dean was busy. The only reason why he would ring twice was if it was important or an emergency and, since they weren't on a hunt, it would have to be that latter.

"I'm sorry," Uncle Dean said, breaking away from Renée, "but I have to answer it."

Finally, my prayers have been answered. I swear I could hear the Halleluiah chorus right now.

"But—"

Ignoring her, Uncle Dean got up and dug through his jeans until he found his ringing cell phone. It was indeed Dad.

"Listen, Sammy, I'm in the middle of something, can this wait?"

"Liz isn't breathing and I am barely getting a pulse!"

Wait…I'm not breathing? But, I'm just in Uncle Dean's head. Surely my body would still be functioning even if I was mentally miles away from it.

"Have you called 9-1-1?" Uncle Dean asked, quickly pulling his clothes on.

"No," Dad said. "I wanted to get a hold of you first. I'm doing CPR on her right now."

Oh, shit!

"Call 9-1-1! I'll be there as soon as possible!"

Not even waiting for a goodbye, Uncle Dean slammed his cell phone shut, cursing under his breath.

"What's going on?" Renée asked, genuinely concerned.

"A family emergency," Uncle Dean said, not elaborating beyond that. He bent down and kissed her gently. "I promise to make it up to you later."

As if for punishment, Renée reached behind Uncle Dean and pinched his ass. "You better."

In the moment it takes someone to blink, I was torn away from Uncle Dean in Renée's apartment and shoved back into the motel room with Dad hovering over me with a freaked out look on his face. I was gasping for air, my chest and lungs on fire.

"Liz! Oh my God! Liz, are you okay?"

I answered him by coughing up a lung. He relaxed slightly, since that was usually a good sign after someone stopped breathing. At least, that's what they said when I took a CPR class to become a certified babysitter.

"I'm fine," I said, my voice hoarse and my throat burning.

"_You weren't breathing_!" Dad shouted, mortified. "It took me five minutes to bring you back and you probably stopped breathing before I noticed."

"I think…I think it might have something to do with the whole I-get-stuck-in-people's-minds-involuntarily thing," I said, trying to avoid saying mind-rape.

"Wait…were you in my mind again?" he asked.

I paused for a moment. I could correct him and then have to explain that I was in Uncle Dean's mind while he was about to have sex with a woman. However, I wasn't stupid.

"Yeah," I muttered.

Dad shook his head. "This is just…scary."

"I didn't know that I stopped breathing until you freaked out," I said.

"That must mean you…you saw the vision."

I was about to ask what he was talking about. However, in order to keep up the pretenses that I was in his mind and not Uncle Dean's, I nodded.

Dad sighed. "When Dean gets back, we'll need to head to Michigan to stop it."

I hid the confusion from my face even though there were a multiple questions I needed answered to understand that statement alone.

Uncle Dean came bursting through the door. He froze, looking between Dad and me.

"Uh…you said she wasn't breathing," Uncle Dean said. "She looks fine to me."

"It has something to do with her…" Dad couldn't find the right words to describe this freaky ability.

"Mind-rape thing," Uncle Dean offered.

"We'll go with that one," Dad said, not at all happy about calling it that. However, there wasn't really an easy way to explain it other than mind-rape. "Apparently she stops breathing when she was in someone's mind."

He began to panic. "Which mind were you in?"

I felt like shouting that I was in his, but I controlled myself. "Dad's."

Uncle Dean looked relieved. "That's…good."

"God, Dean," Dad grumbled.

Uncle Dean rolled his eyes. "So, was it interesting in the mind of Sammy?"

"It's Sam and…she saw…I had a vision and she saw it."

"Wait…you had a vision!"

"Yeah, I was getting to that," Dad said. "Look, we need to get to Michigan."

"What's in Michigan besides, you know, water and…well, water?"

"Well, there's this guy and he parks his car in the garage and he get's locked in his car and can't gets out. Some sort of invisible force starts his car with the garage door shut. No matter how hard he tries, he can't get out. Dean, we need to save him."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"McCredie. Detective McCredie. Badge number one-five-eight. I have a four-eighty in progress. I need information on the owner of a two-door Sedan with the Michigan license plate number MF-6037."

I was confused—really confused. And, of course, I couldn't ask any questions since I, apparently, know exactly what is going on. Uncle Dean was trying to shove it off as a nightmare, but Dad was adamant on finding out who this person is.

"Yeah, just hurry," Dad muttered angrily.

"Sammy, relax. I'm sure it was just a nightmare."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"I-I mean it. Your normal, everyday, naked-in-class nightmare. It won't check out—you'll see."

"It felt different, Dean—real. Like when I dreamt about our old house and Jessica." Dad turned around in his seat. "Besides, Liz saw it. I mean, did you…_feel_ how real it was?"

No, no I didn't. "Um…yeah. I did."

"See."

"Yeah, but you were dreaming about _our_ house and _your_ wife. This guy—have you ever seen him before?"

"No," Dad admitted.

"Exactly! Why would you have premonitions about some random dude in Michigan?"

"I don't know."

"Me either."

"Yes, I'm here," Dad said into the cell phone. I couldn't see his reaction, but I could somehow tell that he got what he wanted. "Jim Miller. Saginaw, Michigan. Address? Got it."

Dad hung up the phone. Silence clung to the Impala like the rain falling from the sky. Uncle Dean wouldn't admit he was wrong. Dad hated the fact that he was right. I am still as confused as hell on what is going on.

"Checks out," Dad announced, needlessly. "How far away?"

"From Saginaw?" Dad nodded. "Couple hours."

Dad didn't seem amused by that. "Drive faster."

Uncle Dean pushed down on the gas. We made it to Saginaw, Michigan in record time.

Of course, we were still too late.

There were police cars and ambulances surrounding the house. Uncle Dean parked the Impala next to a police cruiser. It didn't take supernatural powers to know that someone had died in that house earlier tonight.

Wordlessly, the three of us climbed out of the Impala and joined the horde of onlookers who were behind the police barricade.

"What happened?" Uncle Dean asked a woman, about mid- to late-fifties.

"Suicide," the woman said, shaking her head solemnly. "I can't believe it."

Uncle Dean and Dad looked at each other as if they knew what the other was thinking. "Did you know him?" Dad asked.

The woman sighed. "Saw him every Sunday at Saint Augustine's. He always seems—_seemed_—so normal. I guess you never know what goes on behind closed doors."

"Guess not," Uncle Dean muttered.

"How did, uh…how are they saying it happened?" Dad asked, trying to find the right words.

"They found him in the garage—locked inside the car with the engine running."

"Do you know about what time they found him?"

"Well, it, uh…just happened about an hour or two ago." The woman sighed. "His poor family. I can't even imagine what they are going through."

That's when I finally dared to look at the house. I saw a balding man standing there comforting a sobbing woman. However, there was something—_someone_, actually—who caught my eye. It was just some guy are Dad's age who was just standing there, a look of complete indifference on his face.

I didn't even realize that Dad walked away until Uncle Dean was tugging at my sleeves to follow him. Dad stood just a few feet from the crowd, just staring at the scene in front of him.

"Sam, we got here as fast as we could," Uncle Dean said.

"Not fast enough," Dad countered. "This doesn't make any sense. Why would I have these premonitions unless there was a chance I could stop them from happening?"

"I dunno," Uncle Dean admitted.

We were enveloped into silence for a few moments until Dad broke it. "So, what do you think did it?"

"Maybe the guy just killed himself," Uncle Dean argued. "Maybe there isn't something supernatural going on."

Dad shook his head. "I'm telling you. I watched it happen. He was murdered by something, Dean. It trapped him in the garage."

"Like what? A spirit? A poltergeist? What?"

"I don't know what it was. I don't know why I'm having these dreams. I don't know what the hell is happening, Dean."

Uncle Dean just shook his head.

"What?" Dad grumbled.

"Nothing," Uncle Dean obviously lied. "Man, I've been worried about you—about Liz."

I lowered my head away from his gaze. I hated this—I hated this so much. I hated these powers and the situation at hand.

"Well, don't looking at us like that," Dad snapped, defensively.

"I'm not looking at yah like anything. I'm just saying you both look like crap."

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Yeah, well…" Uncle Dean sighed. "Let's just pick this up in the morning." He stood up and walked around towards the Impala. "We'll check out the house—talk to the family."

"Dean, you saw them," Dad said. "They're devastated. They're not gonna want to talk to us."

Uncle Dean thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He got that twinkle in his eye that indicated that he had a plan and that we would most likely not like it. "But you know who they will talk to?"

Dad looked at Uncle Dean, confused. "Who?"

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"Isn't posing as priests illegal or something?" I asked Dad and Uncle Dean.

"Immoral—yes. Illegal—no." Dad simply stated, opening the door to the Impala and climbing out. Uncle Dean copied the action. "We shouldn't be too long. Just—"

"I know, I know," I muttered, annoyed. "Keep low, don't draw attention to myself and, if I have to leave the Impala because it is something freaky, make sure I place an object on the front seat to indicate what kind of emergency it is." I rattled each precaution off in a monotone voice. I knew what to do while they were working a case. This isn't the first one I've ever been on.

Dad sighed. "Where did you get that attitude from?"

"Welcome to life with a teenage girl," I said dramatically. "Please enter at your own risk."

Uncle Dean snorted. "I think you are way over your head, Sammy."

Dad slammed the door shut without another word. He turned sharply and headed up towards the house. Uncle Dean walked quickly to catch up to him.

I would give anything to see them pose as priests right now. Uncle Dean was sure to go overboard with the whole "we are God's followers" thing while Dad just sits in the sidelines and only pipes in when there is a question that needs to be asked. The sad thing is, I don't know which one would be more awkward.

They came back about an hour later. Just by the looks on their faces, I knew they came up short on anything useful. I braced myself for a long night full of research, because I have a feeling that is what was coming my way.

I was right, of course.

The moment we got to the motel, we set off on research. Correction: Dad and I did research while Uncle Dean cleaned the countless number of guns we seem to possess. I've always wondered the exact number of weapons that are hidden in the Impala alone.

"What yah got?" Uncle Dean asked. By now, it was dark outside.

"A whole lot of nothing," Dad said, deflated. "Nothing bad has happened to the Miller house since it was built."

"What about the land?"

"No graveyards, battlefields, tribal lands or any sort of atrocity happened on or near the property," I said, looking up from my computer.

Dad collapsed onto the bed. The jarring movement almost knocked my computer onto the floor, but I caught it in time.

"Look, I searched that house high and low," Uncle Dean said defensively. "No cold spots, no sulfur scent—nada."

"And the family said everything was normal?" Dad asked.

"Well, if there was a demon or poltergeist near, don't you think someone would notice? Besides, I used the inferred thermal scanner."

"So what, you think Jim Miller just offed himself and my dream was just a freakish coincidence?"

"I dunno," Uncle Dean admitted. "I'm pretty sure there is nothing supernatural about that house."

"Yeah," Dad mumbled.

That's when I felt it. There was a dull ache in my head that was slowly escalating. I wasn't one to get headaches, so this was a little weird for me.

"So…maybe…uh…maybe it has nothing to do with the house."

The headache spiked to an almost intolerable level. I tried messaging my temples hoping that it would alleviate the pain, but nothing seemed to be working.

"Maybe it's…gosh…maybe it's connected to Jim…in some other way."

The lights, the sounds…everything made my headache worse. It felt like my head was about to explode. I couldn't take the pressure and the pain.

"What's wrong with you two?"

Uncle Dean was talking too loud—way too loud. Why were there so many stupid lights on? I thought we only had the lamp on.

I wasn't in the dingy motel room anymore. I was in some man's apartment. He was just coming home from what looked like the grocery store since his arms were full of brown grocery bags.

He sat the bags down on the counter and pulled out a beer. He took a large swig of the amber liquid and then went about putting the groceries away.

Behind him, the window leading out into an alleyway opened by itself. It allowed the cold air to seep through the apartment and alert the man that it was open.

Confused, he walked over to the window and promptly closed. He locked it for good measure.

Roger went about his business unloading his grocery bags. Without any physical interference, the lock on the window moved and the window opened.

Taking another annoyed swig of beer, he placed the longneck down on the counter and tried to push the window closed.

It wouldn't budge.

No matter how hard he tried, Roger could not get the window to close.

Thinking that there was something caught on the outside, Roger shimmied onto the railing, his neck resting on the frame.

With a large force, the window slammed down on Roger's neck. Blood splattered everywhere and his head rolled onto the fire escape.

I was shoved back into the motel room. I was on the cold floor, panting wildly and trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

"It's happening again," Dad cried. "Something is going to kill Roger Miller!"


	13. Nightmare

**Chapter XIII - Nightmare**

In a matter of seconds, the three of us were in the Impala heading towards Roger Miller's place. My mind was on autopilot—unsure of what to do and unsure of how to react.

"Roger Miller," Dad spoke into the phone. "No, just give us his address. Okay, thanks." He slammed the phone shut with a disgruntled sigh. "Four-fifty West Grove—apartment eleven-twenty."

"You okay?" Uncle Dean asked after a few moments of silence.

"Yeah," Dad said. He was totally lying. I could see right through him.

"'Cause I'll pull over if you're gonna hurl. Because the upholstery, you know—"

"I'm fine," Dad reassured. "Just drive."

"Alright," Uncle Dean said. He did not buy it for a second. He was really worried about Dad and me—which I didn't blame him. I was worried too.

But…how did I know that Uncle Dean was worried and that Dad was totally lying?

Goddamn freaky powers.

"I'm worried, Dean," Dad said. "I mean, these nightmares were bad enough but now I am starting to get them when I'm awake."

"Yeah, and I'm mind-raping people involuntarily while I am still awake as well," I added.

"Do we really have to call it mind-rape?" Dad asked, getting rather irritated by how Uncle Dean and I use the term.

"Do you have a better name for it?" I asked him.

"Look, instead of arguing whether Liz's mind-rape things should be called mind-rape, can we get back to the fact that your and Sam's powers are starting to show themselves during the waking hours."

"But that's just not it," Dad said, thankful for the subject change, even though it was still a subject he'd rather not deal with right now. "The visions or whatever are getting more intense and painful."

"C'mon man, it'll be okay," Uncle Dean said, not really reassuring since he didn't have the heart to tell Dad that he was as freaked about this whole thing as we are if not more so. He gets the second hand experience and is, for all intense and purposes, out of the know on what exactly these things entail.

He was the glue that was holding two nearly mentally insane people together.

"You'll be fine."

"But what is it about the Miller's?" Dad questioned. "Why am I connected to them? Why am I watching them die? Why the hell is this happening to us?" By _us_ he was referring to me and my freaky powers as well. He could have been a little clearer to Uncle Dean on what he meant by that.

I should be _asking_ him about this, not just _knowing_ because I can sense what he is thinking or something like that.

"I dunno but we will figure it out," Uncle Dean said. Finally, he told the truth. He was going to figure it out even if he needed to contact Grandpa John like he did the first time Dad's visions started up.

Wait…he left a voicemail with Grandpa John about Dad's powers while we were in Lawrence. Why weren't we informed of this? It didn't matter anyway. We were able to solve it—no thanks to him.

"We face the unexplainable every day," Uncle Dean continued. "This is no different than any other gig."

"No," Dad said. "It's never been us. It's never been in the family like this. Tell me the truth that this doesn't freak you out."

I held my breath as I listened to Uncle Dean's internal monologue decide which route would be better: tell the truth or tell a lie. I slowly grew disappointed as the discussion went a different way than it should have.

"This doesn't freak me out," he said, practically monotone. I could slap the boy silly for lying to us like that. No wonder Missouri gets pissy at him—when you know what is going on in his head, it would piss anyone off listening to him speak.

Dad didn't believe him either, but he accepted the lie as reassurance that maybe—just maybe—this is fixable. That he won't keep having these stupid visions and that I would stop entering people's minds. That maybe our lives aren't as fucked up as they appear to be.

Now I wanted to slap them both.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Roger Miller was walking into his apartment, grocery bags in hand. It seemed weird watching the man walking around when I had almost just seen him get killed by a demonic window.

"Hey Roger!" Dad called.

Uncle Dean stopped the car next to him. "Hey, hold up a sec."

"What are you guys? Missionaries? Leave me alone." Roger kept walking towards his apartment building.

Uncle Dean pulled the Impala into the nearest parking spot. Dad was out of the car before Uncle Dean even put it in park. "Hey!" he cried. "Stop! We're trying to help you!" Uncle Dean and I climbed out of the Impala and chased after him. Roger slammed the door shut before Dad reached it.

"I don't want your help."

Uncle Dean and I made it to the closed door.

"We're not priests! You gotta listen to us."

"Hey you're in danger!"

"We're trying to help you!"

Roger continued up the stairs, completely ignoring our warnings.

"C'mon! C'mon!" Uncle Dean shouted, already at a full sprint. Dad and I didn't hesitate to follow as we rounded the building and reached the back alleyway. It was gated off, but Uncle Dean almost effortlessly kicked it open.

I immediately recognized the fire escape from the vision. I remember watching Roger crawl above it trying to "fix the window that wouldn't go down."

Dad jumped up and began climbing up onto the fire escape. Uncle Dean and I took our respective turns after him.

So many stairs! Halfway to Roger's apartment, I felt my lungs begin to burn. Despite the physical training Dad puts me through, stairs are still my worst enemy. But I kept pushing—the visual of Roger's headless body egging me onward.

We were just three sets of stairs away from Roger's apartment when we heard the unquestionable sound of Roger being beheaded. We ran even faster only to see the blood dripping down the side of the building.

"Here," Uncle Dean shouted, handing Dad a rag. "Wipe down the railings. We don't want the cops to know we were here."

Uncle Dean handed me a rag and I automatically took it, but I just stood there staring at all the blood.

"I'm going to take a look inside," Uncle Dean said. Dad immediately went to work on wiping away our fingerprints.

Uncle Dean climbed out a few minutes later. Dad and I had the railings mostly wiped clean, even though I had no clue what I was honestly doing. My mind was numb.

"The place is clean," Uncle Dean announced as we made our way back to the Impala. "There was no sign of anything, just like Jim's place."

"I saw something in the vision—a dark shape. Something—" a car honked and Uncle Dean stopped Dad before he could accidentally walk out in front of it. "Something was stalking Roger."

"Whatever it is it's sure as hell ain't connected to the house," Uncle Dean said.

"It's after the family itself. What do you think it could be? A vengeful spirit?"

"They have been known to latch onto families," I said, remembering reading about a couple of jobs like that in Grandpa John's journal.

"Agias, banshees…"

"Basically like a curse," I added. "Jim Miller got caught in something heavy."

"And now something is out for revenge," Dad completed. "And he and his family are dying." He paused. "Do you think Max is in danger?"

"Let's figure it out before he is," Uncle Dean said, starting up the Impala.

"Well," Dad sighed. "I know one thing I have in common with these people."

"What?" Uncle Dean asked.

"Both of our families are cursed."

Uncle Dean snorted humorlessly. "Our family is not cursed. We just…have our dark spots."

Dad simply chuckled at Uncle Dean. "Our dark spots are pretty dark."

"Yeah, dark enough that even Oxy-Clean can't even get them out." I muttered.

Uncle Dean just shook his head. "You're…dark." Before we could say another word, he put the Impala in drive and headed back towards the motel.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"Wait here," Dad commanded needlessly. He and Uncle Dean were dressed as priests again, heading back to the Miller's residence to talk to Max and his stepmother, Alice.

"Yeah, I know," I muttered, opening the book I grabbed to read, _To Kill a Mockingbird_ by Harper Lee. It was one of my personal favorites and one of the few books I own that aren't for school or research.

Without another word, Dad and Uncle Dean walked up the driveway towards the house. I tried to stay focused on the story, but not even the amazing courthouse scene could stop my mind from wondering what is going on in that house.

Normally when I was rejected to the Impala while Dad and Uncle Dean went to interview people, I simply do something to bid my time and wait for the information to come to me when they get back.

However, there was just something about this case that was giving me the chills—and not the good kind like John Travolta's character from _Grease_.

I mean, why would Dad be having visions about the Miller's? So far, they have only been connected to our family. What suddenly changed? And what was with the fact that neither of us were asleep when our freaky powers kicked in?

I am so confused right now.

I slammed my book shut and leaned my forehead against the window. I felt helpless, and I hated feeling helpless.

It's time like these where I wish life really was a musical. Instead of stewing about it internally, I could be singing at the top of my lungs on top of the Impala about how much this situation sucks and no one would ask any questions about it.

"My mom's resting. She's pretty wrecked."

Wait…hold on. How did I get from the Impala to a living room I have never seen before? Is that Max talking?

Crap, it happened again. I think I am mind-raping someone—Dad, actually, to be more specific. Is it sad that I am actually growing used to do this?

"All these people kept coming with these casseroles," Max continued. "I finally told them they had to go away. You know, nothing says 'sorry' like a tuna casserole."

Awkwardly, the three of them sat down—Dad and Uncle Dean next to each other on the couch while Max took the chair next to it.

"How you holding up?" Dad finally asked Max, trying to get to the root of the problem.

Max shrugged. "I'm okay."

"Your dad and your uncle…were they close?"

"Yeah, I guess," Max answered halfheartedly. "I mean, they were brothers. They hung out all the time when I was little."

"Lately much?"

"No, it wasn't that. It's…we used to be neighbors when I was a kid. When we used to live across town, Roger lived next door so he was over all the time."

"So, how was it when you were a kid?"

"It was fine….Why?"

"All good memories?" Uncle Dean chimed in, breaking the duologue. "Do you remember anything unusual? Anything to do with your father and your uncle maybe?"

Max's poker face began to falter. "Why…why do you…why do you ask?"

"It's just a question," Uncle Dean remarked innocently.

"No," Max said, a little too forcefully. "No, there was nothing abnormal. Happy."

"Good," Uncle Dean said with a slightly pleasing tone. "That's good."

That kid was so lying. I didn't even need my freaky mind-sensing ability to know that. There was something up with this kid and I have a feeling he just might be a major link in solving this case.

"You look exhausted," Uncle Dean said. "We should take off."

"Yep," Dad added quickly. "Thanks," he awkwardly said to Max.

Dad and Uncle Dean escorted themselves out of the house and down the path towards the Impala.

Now would be a great time to get back into my own head.

"So, his family is totally normal and happy," Uncle Dean muttered, not believing a word that fell out of his mouth. "See him when he was talking about his old house?"

"Yeah, he looked scared," Dad noted.

"He didn't tell us everything," Uncle Dean said as the two of them reached the Impala.

I had to get back into my own head before they realized that I wasn't breathing. The last thing Dad needed was yet another thing to worry about. With all my mental strength, I imagined myself pulling my psyche away from Dad and into my own head.

It was instantaneous—one moment, I was in Dad's head as he climbed into the Impala and the next I was sitting upright in the back watching him climb in.

"I say we go find the old neighborhood and talk to the neighbors," Uncle Dean said, starting up the Impala.

Dad turned to look at me. "You okay, Liz?" he asked me.

"Yeah," I bluffed. "So, what did you find out about Max? Is he in danger?" I know that I already know, but since they didn't know that I know I had to keep up appearances I didn't know so that I didn't have to explain how I knew and make them worry even more now that I am starting to mind-rape people without being asleep first.

Dad needlessly explained to me what happened in between researching where the Millers used to reside. He gave Uncle Dean directions to a little neighborhood across town. It looked like every other middle-sized neighborhood in America with square houses, kids playing in the yard and neighbors waving happily to neighbors as they walked by. It was…normal.

Uncle Dean parked the Impala in front of a nondescript house where a man was trimming his hedges. He was wearing an orange hate that said "Elk Rapids" on it. Never heard of it.

"C'mon," Uncle Dean said. Along the way, we stopped so he and Dad could change out of their priest-wear and into their regular clothes. They were just going to be regular Joes for this. He and Dad climbed out and I remained in the back completely focused on _To Kill a Mockingbird_. "You too, Shorty."

I looked at Dad to see if Uncle Dean was actually being serious about this. Dad just went along with it. The one time having my mind-sensing ability would come in handy to understand what was going on in his head would be useful right now.

"I'm not _that_ short," I said, putting the book down and stepping out of the Impala. I was rather confused on what was going on, despite the fact that I knew what happened with Max and why we're here.

"Comparatively—yes," Uncle Dean said.

Ignoring his comment, the three of us strode up to the man. He paused mid-snip and studied us for a second. "What can I do for you today?" His tone was polite, but he was still on edge about something. Maybe it wasn't normal for perfect strangers to walk up to people around here.

"Hi," Dad said, acting cheerful. "We're just wondering how long you've lived in the neighborhood."

"About thirty years," the man replied. "Looking to buy?"

"No," Dad said. "We were wondering if you could tell us about the family that used to live across the street—the Millers."

"Yeah, they had a little boy named Max," Uncle Dean added.

The man didn't look pleased. "Yeah," he sighed. "I remember them. The brother had a place next door." He gave us a confused look. "What is this about anyway? The kid okay?"

"What do you mean?" Dad asked him.

"Well, in my life I have never seen a child treated like that," the man added, sadness lathering his voice. "I mean, I'd here Mr. Miller yelling things clear across the street. He was a…he was a mean drunk. He used to beat the tire out of Max. Broke his arm—two times I know of."

_Poor guy_, I thought. _And I thought I had a crappy childhood. At least my dad loves me_.

"Did it happen often?" Dad asked, not letting any of the sad story ruin his poker face.

"Practically every day," the man replied after a moment's hesitation. "In fact, that brother of his was just as likely to swing at the boy. But the worst part was the stepmother. She'd just…stand there—checked out, never lift a finger to stop it. I must have called the police seven or eight times. It didn't do any good."

"Now you said stepmother," Uncle Dean said.

"I think his real mom died. A sorta accident…a car accident, I think it was. I think…are you okay there?"

I followed the man's eyes and looked over towards Dad. He was clutching the bridge of his nose like he was in pain—some serious pain, by the looks of it.

Please don't let it be another vision.

"Uh, yeah," Dad muttered in a strained voice.

"Thank you for your time," Uncle Dean said in a rush.

"Yeah, thank you," Dad somehow added. Uncle Dean was immediately by his side and guiding him back to the Impala. I followed after, afraid of what was going to happen next.

Dad collapsed onto the ground.

"Dad!" I cried, kneeling down.

Uncle Dean looked at me. "You're not seeing this?"

Despite the vague question, I knew what he was talking about. "I guess not."

Dad seemed to be staring intently at the ground, but his eyes looked out of focused like he was actually looking farther away. He was moving. Hell, he was _breathing_.

Now I really understand why Dad was so freaked out the other night. It was honestly weird watching someone who wasn't breathing. It didn't seem natural.

It seemed to take an eternity for Dad to come to. He was panting wildly and he had much difficulty speaking, but he still got his message across.

"Max Miller is doing it."


	14. Countenance

**Chapter XIV - Countenance**

This case went from bad to worse just by that one notion.

"Max is doing it," Dad said, shaking his head. "Everything we've been seeing." By _we_ he probably was including me, even though I have only seen one of the visions he had.

I just don't understand why I didn't see the latest one.

My abilities must be on the fritz or something.

"You sure about this?" Uncle Dean asked, never taking his eyes off the road.

"Yeah, I saw it."

"How's he pulling it off?" I asked, sitting on the very edge of the seat and resting against the back of the bench seat between Dad and Uncle Dean.

"Like telekinesis," Dad said.

"So, he's psychic—a spoon bender," Uncle Dean said.

"This whole time he was there," Dad cried. "Outside the garage when his dad died. He was at the apartment when his uncle was beheaded. He's been there this whole time." Dad sighed deeply. "I wasn't connected to the Millers. I was connected to Max."

"The big question is _why_," I said. "Why are you Linda Hansen? Why is he Jean Gray? Why am I…mind-raping people?" I couldn't make a pop culture reference with my weird ability since I haven't seen anything like it.

"Maybe the three of us are somehow connected," Dad said, drawing out his words as if he was debating his wording.

"The two of you are nothing like Max," Uncle Dean argued.

"Well, we all have psychic abilities," Dad countered. "And don't say that Liz and I are different since she's my daughter—we have very different abilities, just like Max."

"So what," Uncle Dean said, nearly shouting. "Max is a monster. Sam, he's already killed two people and he's gunning for a third."

"Look at what he's been through—all those beatings. It isn't all completely insane."

"It's human nature to want revenge," I chimed in. God knows that I want my fair share.

"It doesn't justify killing your entire family."

"Uncle Dean has a point."

"Whose side are you even on?" Uncle Dean asked me.

"I'm on the side of stopping Max before he murders his stepmom," I answered. The truth is I'm sort of leaning towards Dad's side. I mean, I have these weird ass powers too. I can understand why he is on edge about this whole thing since I sort of feel the same way.

"He's no different than anything else we've hunted," Uncle Dean commented. "We've got to end him."

"I didn't mean _that_," I remarked.

"We are not killing Max," Dad said as Uncle Dean rolled to a stop.

"Then what?" Uncle Dean said. "We hand him over to the cops and say 'lock him up, officer, he kills with his mind.'"

"Forget it! No way, man."

"Why can't you two get it through your thick skulls that we need to kill him?"

"He's a person," Dad quipped. "We can talk to him. Promise me you'll follow my lead on this one."

"Alright fine," Uncle Dean said, not sounding like he meant it. "But I'm not letting him hurt anyone else." He leaned across the seat and opened the glove compartment. As a precaution, he grabbed a gun. Dad looked like he wanted to argue, but he remained silent.

Uncle Dean climbed out and, before Dad followed suit, he turned to me and said, "Stay here."

"But, Dad—"

"Liz," he warned. I clapped my mouth shut. There are times when I could argue him. This was not one of those times.

"Fine," I muttered, sinking back into the seat. While the two of them sauntered off towards the house, I quietly climbed out of the Impala. I didn't doubt that Dad would try reasoning with Max, but I needed to be there for back-up in case we had to take Uncle Dean's course of action.

I said I wasn't going to argue with him—I didn't say anything about following orders.

Uncle Dean and Dad barged into the house and closed the door quickly behind them. I snuck over to the window and peered inside, hoping I wasn't too obvious since Max and Alice could easily spot me.

I couldn't hear exactly what was said, but I could hear muffled voices and could kind of tell who was speaking.

When I noticed Dad, Uncle Dean and Max heading towards the door, I ducked into the bushes. I watched as the door opened just a few inches before being slammed shut.

Confused, I tried looking through the window to see what was going on, but the shades were pulled down and I couldn't see a thing. Knowing that Max was behind this and not cooperating like Dad hoped he would, I reached over to open the door—but I couldn't. It wouldn't budge. Max must have used his telekinesis to lock the door.

Muttering curses under my breath, I made my way towards the backyard, hoping he would forget to lock the back door…if there was even a back door.

I lucked out. There was a door leading to the backyard and he forgot to lock it. I barged in, imagining that it kind of looked like an action hero coming to the rescue. However, I had no plan and the four of them just stared at me.

"Who are you?" Max asked, Uncle Dean's gun pointing right at Dad and Uncle Dean. I could only guess that he spotted the gun, thought that they didn't just want to talk and decided to take the weapon from them.

Well, there goes plan B.

"Dammit, Liz," Dad cried.

"JUST SHUT UP!" Max shouted.

"Max, please stop!" Alice pleaded.

Without even physically moving, Max shoved Alice and she flew backwards into the kitchen counter. My need to help her out kicked in, but I stayed away. I shouldn't do anything to piss Max off even more while he had a gun in his hand.

"I TOLD YOU TO STOP!"

"Max, calm down," Dad said. "We just want to talk to you."

"Yeah right! Then I why did you bring this?"

"That was a mistake," Dad assured. "So was lying to you about who we were. We are done lying just…please Max just hear me out."

"About what?" Max demanded

Dad took a deep breath. "I saw you did it—we saw you did it." He motioned towards me. "We saw you kill your dad and uncle before it happened."

Max looked dumbfounded. "What?"

"I have visions and my daughter over there, Liz, sees them in my mind." At least he didn't call it mind-rape.

"What?" he repeated.

"I'm having visions—about you."

"You're crazy…you both are crazy."

"So, you weren't going to launch a knife at your stepmom right here." Dad pointed to his eye. "Is this hard to believe? Look at what you can do. Max, we were drawn here, alright….I think we're here to help you."

Max looked between me and Dad. He choked back a sob as he said, "No one can help me."

"Let us try," Dad said. I felt like I should say something, but it felt like something was caught in my throat, so I remained silent. I'd rather not say something stupid during such a nerve-wracking situation. "Let's just talk. It can be just the two of us. We'll get Dean, Liz and Alice out of here." I was relieved when Dad didn't mention me joining this little chat he was planning. It should be just them—a man-to-man sort of deal.

"No way," Uncle Dean argued.

The whole house began to shake, probably due to Max's fury.

"Nobody's leaving this house," Max commanded.

"No one has to," Dad said, keeping his cool. "They'll just…they'll just go upstairs."

"Sam I'm not leaving you alone with him," Uncle Dean said. His face was void of any emotion.

"Yes you are," Dad told Uncle Dean. "Look, Max, you're in charge here. No one is going to do anything you don't want to do. I'm just talking five minutes here, man."

"Sam—"

Dad made a motion for him to be silent.

Max thought for a moment. Slowly, he nodded. "Five minutes."

The shaking immediately stopped.

"Go!" Max commanded.

I was immediately helping a confused Alice off the ground. Uncle Dean hesitated only for a moment before heading towards us. Max had the gun pointed to Uncle Dean the entire time and I felt panicked when it was now in my general direction. I could use a gun during target practice while lacking emotion. However, when one is pointed to me, I begin to freak out.

Working together, Uncle Dean and I helped Alice up the stairs. We placed her on one of the beds. Uncle Dean tested her for a concussion and she came up negative, but he told her to stay awake just in case.

Out in the hall, Uncle Dean leaned against the wall. He had full view of the stairwell and he could be by Dad's side in an instant.

"I hope that dumbass knows what he's doing," Uncle Dean muttered.

"You and me both," I said.

"Can you do that mind-rape thing and check on them?"

"It doesn't seem to work that way," I admitted. "It is a sort of an involuntary action, I guess."

Uncle Dean sighed. "Of course it is."

We fell into an awkward silence. I wish I could come up with something to say, but my mind was still reeling from this whole thing that nothing came to.

"I'd hate to bring up a chick-flick moment, but how do you feel about this whole thing?" Uncle Dean looked me square in the eye, as if daring me to tell the truth. "I mean, it seems like you are thrown under the rug on this one."

I shrugged. "It freaks me out; I'm not going to lie. But it could be one step closer to answers."

"What do you mean?" Uncle Dean asked.

"I never thought anything of it at the time, but when Mom died, the yellow-eyed freak that killed her said that he had big plans for Dad and me." I froze for a moment. "Maybe this is what he was talking about."

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" Uncle Dean asked.

"Like I said, I never thought anything of it." I felt ashamed, and sadness kicked in as I revisited old memories that I shoved into the very back of the filing cabinet that was my head. I forced myself not to think about Mom in ages—it was the only way to keep me sane.

Uncle Dean shook his head. "I guess I can't blame you. A lot of shit happened that day."

I drew a shaky, yet calming breath. "Yeah," was the only thing I could muster saying at the moment.

Uncle Dean peered into Alice's room. "Maybe we should clean those," he said, pointing to her bleeding forehead.

Alice only nodded. "There's a first aid kit in the bathroom…under the sink."

"I'll get it," I said, quickly walking down the hall and into the bathroom. We never had a chance to get it. The door swung open without anyone physically moving it. Max walked in, looking as scared and as frightened as ever. He mentally slammed the door behind him.

Uncle Dean cautiously stepped towards Max. Before he even got two steps in, he was thrown up against the wall. He slumped to the ground, unconscious. There was a huge indent where his head and back came into contact with the wall.

"Max!" Alice screeched.

I stared at Max for a moment before I ran towards Uncle Dean's limp form. I checked him for a pulse. I was relieved when I felt it. But that soon turned to panic when the sound of a gun being cocked drew me back to the frightening situation.

I looked up and the gun that Max was controlling hung purposefully in the air. Another wave of panic coursed through me. The gun was pointed right at me.

"You don't want to do this Max," I said, using almost the same words as I do when I'm trying to persuade a friend not to do something stupid.

Ignoring me, he slowly turned the gun to face Alice. "MAX!" she sobbed. She stood up from the bed and headed towards me. Max followed her movements with the gun.

I stepped between Alice and the gun. "STAY BACK!" Max demanded as he swung the gun around to face me instead of his stepmother. "IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU!"

"You wanna kill her, you'll have to go throw me," I said, spoken like a true Winchester.

Max shrugged. "Okay," he said.

There was a loud bang and I threw my hands up for protection. I knew my life was over then. There was no way I could survive a gunshot to the head.

"NO DON'T!"

Wait a minute…

I slowly looked up. Max never fired the gun. Dad shoved the door open, causing it to sound like the stereotypical "bang" of a gun.

"Please!" Dad said to Max, almost pleading. "Please, Max! We can help you, alright. But this…what you're doing…it's not the solution. It's not going to fix anything."

Silence clung to the air. It felt like we stood there for days, hoping Max would make the right decision and allow us to help him.

"You're right," Max whispered after the agonizing silence.

Before any of us could do anything about it, Max mentally swung the gun around to face him and pulled the trigger. His lifeless body slumped to the ground.

"NO!"

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"Go call the police," Dad said to Alice. After everyone got over the initial shock over what happened, we had to deal with the fact that there was more to the body count.

Dad roused Uncle Dean awake as I helped a freaked out Alice get to the nearest phone. Uncle Dean was okay for the most part. He'll probably have a huge ass headache.

Once the police were notified, the four of us headed down to the living room, unable to stand being anywhere close to the bedroom anymore.

The police arrived. Alice gave the statement we thought up on the spot. She made it sound like Max was a suicidal psychopath who threatened to kill her and that we were just family friends that she called upon during her time of need. Not quite the truth, but the closest thing to it.

"Alright, we'll call you if we have any further questions."

"Thanks officer," Uncle Dean said. He turned to Dad and me and said, "C'mon. Let's go."

The two of us followed after Uncle Dean out of the house. That's when I noticed how Dad had a protective arm around me as if I was a sensitive little girl. I didn't call him out on it. I think he just needs something to go right after…everything.

Besides, I'd be lying if I said that I didn't find it comforting either.

Once we were outside, Dad shook his head. "If only I would've said something else….If I would have gotten through to him somehow."

"Don't do that," Uncle Dean said. "Don't torture yourself. It wouldn't have mattered what you said, Max was too far gone."

"You didn't see how he looked at me right before," Dad said. "I should've done something."

"C'mon man, you risked your life," Uncle Dean noted.

"Well, maybe if we would have gotten there thirty years earlier," I commented.

We walked a crossed the street and towards the familiar Impala.

"Well, I'll tell you one thing," Dad said. "We're lucky we had Dad."

Uncle Dean snorted softly. "I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Well," Dad sighed, "it could have gone a whole different way after Mom died. A little more tequila and less demon hunting, then we would have had Max's childhood." A chilling silence filled the air before Dad continued speaking. "All things considered, we turned out okay…thanks to him."

"All things considered," Uncle Dean said before climbing into the Impala.

"Hey Dad," I said, stopping him from climbing in himself.

"Yeah?"

I smiled meekly at him. "I'm pretty lucky, too."

Before I realized it, Dad had me in one of his bear hugs.

"I'm sorry, Liz."

"Don't be," I muttered, although it was muffled and distorted from my face buried into his shirt.

"You don't understand," Dad said. "I…I watched you get shot in the head. It was even worse than the shifter a few months back."

I felt my blood turn to ice. He saw me get _killed_ by Max.

I swung my arms around him. "Dad, I'm sorry."

In true father/daughter fashion, Dad told me, "Don't be."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

We couldn't pack fast enough to get out of Saginaw. I hastily shoved things into my duffle and having to sit on it in order to get it closed. If it wasn't during such a serious situation, I'm sure it would have been comical.

Dad walked back inside after putting a few items into the trunk of the Impala. "I've been thinking."

"That's never good," Uncle Dean said, beating me to the punch line.

"I'm serious," Dad said, his features completely solemn. "I've been thinking: why would this demon or whatever it is kill Mom and Jessica and Max's mom? You know, what does it want?"

Uncle Dean froze for a minute. He took one brief glance in my direction before saying, "I have no idea."

I have a feeling that is code for 'If you even think about tell him right now, I'll cut you.'

"Do you think it was after us? After Max, Liz and me?"

"Why would you think that?" Uncle Dean asked, his poker face only wavering slightly.

"I mean, either telekinesis or premonitions or…mind-rape, we all have psychic abilities. Maybe…maybe it was after us for some reason."

"Sam," Uncle Dean sighed. "If they wanted you, they would have taken you."

"Besides, the thing let me go," I chimed in. "He had my pinned to the wall, but he didn't kill me or kidnap me or anything of the sort."

"Either way, this isn't either of yours faults," Uncle Dean asserted. "It's not about the two of you."

Dad had to ask the impossible question. "What is it about?"

"It's about that damn thing that did this to our family." Uncle Dean's tone rose into nearly-shouting territory. "The thing we are going to find and that we are going to kill. That's all."

There was a long moment where the only sounds audible was the ruffling of packing bags and getting ready to leave.

"Actually, there is something else," Dad said.

Uncle Dean groaned. "Now what?"

"When Max trapped me in the closet…that big cabinet against the door…I moved it."

"I guess I don't your body strength enough credit," Uncle Dean chuckled.

"No, man, I mean I moved it, you know, like Max."

The silence was now suffocating. This just gets worse and worse by the second. It makes me wonder what else we can do, but it scared me knowing that other abilities were lying dormant with us and who knows when they'll decide to make themselves present. Could it be worse than mind-rape?

"Oh," was the only word Uncle Dean could say. He seemed lost for words.

"Yeah…"

From the shelving unit in front of him, Uncle Dean produced a spoon. "Bend this," he commanded, holding it out in front of him.

Dad made a bitch face. "I can't turn it on and off."

"Then how'd you do it?"

"I don't know, Dean," Dad said, flustered. "I saw you die and it just came out of me like a punch…a freak adrenaline thing."

Uncle Dean put the spoon down. He grabbed some clothing and walked over to his suitcase. "Well, it won't happen again."

"Yeah, maybe," Dad muttered at the same time I mumbled, "Fat chance."

"Man, aren't you worried we could turn into Max or something?" Dad asked Uncle Dean.

I froze. I never saw it that way, but that is possible. These abilities are driving me insane. Maybe one day they will make me go certifiably crazy and end up being homicidal.

"Nope," Uncle Dean simply stated, "no way. You know why?"

"No, why?" Dad humored him.

"Because the two of you have one advantage Max didn't have."

"And what's that? Dad? 'Cause, Dad's not here."

"No," Uncle Dean said, shrugging on his jacket. "Me."

That was true. No matter what happened with Dad and me, Uncle Dean will always be there when we need him most.

"As long as I'm around, nothing bad is going to happen to you two," Uncle Dean swung his duffle over his shoulder. "As far as the premonitions and mind-rape-thing, I know where we need to go."

"Where?" Dad asked.

Uncle Dean smiled mischievously. "Vegas."

Dad just snorted in frustration as he made his way to the Impala.

"What? C'mon man."

"How would my mind-rape thing be useful in Vegas?" I asked, grabbing my own duffle and following Uncle Dean out the door.

"Well, you could mind-rape the other players and know what they have in their hands."

"You're impossible," I said, shaking my head.

"What?" Uncle Dean asked, innocently. "With you two at a poker table, we'll make a killing."

Dad and I looked at each other briefly before turning to Uncle Dean. "Yeah, whatever, Dean," Dad said.

"Just think about it."

Despite the situation, I couldn't help but smile. Maybe Uncle Dean is right. Dad and I will be safe as long as he's around to be the glue that keeps our pieces from crumbling.


	15. Awkward

_Author's Note: I can't believe that I have hit 50,000 words (according to the website anyway, Word says I have about three thousand to go)! I have to thank everyone who has reviewed, favorited, alerted and everything else. This is my longest and most successful story to date, so I owe my readers a lot. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!_

**Chapter XV - Awkward**

By now, it was second nature to accept that I involuntarily enter people's minds. It's also sad that when Dad and Uncle Dean see me not breathing, they just act nonchalant.

"Whose mind do you think she's in?" Uncle Dean asked. It was a joke that Dad did not find amusing, by the look on his bitch face. I was, in fact, in Uncle Dean's head.

Dad only sighed in reply. "This isn't funny, Dean."

He just shrugged. "I try."

Uncle Dean pulled into a parking spot. He immediately got out and circled towards the back of the Impala to get his "tool box". Dad and Uncle Dean were disguised as alarm security maintenance workers in order to check on an apartment where a woman was murdered.

They're calling the silent murder since she was in her secured apartment with no signs of a break-in. There wasn't a lot of concrete evidence that it was supernatural, but it sure seemed fishy.

"Alright Dean," Dad said, climbing out of the Impala, "this is the place."

"You know, I just gotta say that Dad made it just fine without these stupid costumes," Uncle Dean noted as the two of them walked down the sidewalk towards the victim's apartment. "I feel like a high school drama dork."

Hey, it's high school drama _geeks_. There is a difference and what is wrong with them. I was planning on doing plays and musicals and such when I reached high school, since they didn't have many opportunities in middle school. I'll just have to remember to kick his ass the next time I am physically near him.

"What was that play you did?" Uncle Dean asked Dad. "Oh…what was it called? _Our Town_, I think it was. Yeah, you were good. It was cute."

Dad was not amused. He even pulled out his bitch face. "Look, do you want to pull this off or not?"

"Yeah, these cost hard-earned money."

"Whose?"

"Ours," Uncle Dean replied. "You think credit card fraud is easy?"

Of course I wouldn't be able to get a first hand view of the victim's apartment. I was shoved back into my body, sitting stock straight and gasping for air. Although, it was a relief to be back in my own body—just because I was used to mind-raping people doesn't mean I actually like doing it.

After a few moments, my breathing evened out. Knowing that Dad and Uncle Dean might be a while, I opened up my laptop and actually did some homework…for all of five minutes. I eventually ended up trolling the internet for something to do. Anything was better than dealing with pre-algebra.

Dad and Uncle Dean came back and hour or so later. They climbed into the Impala and I asked the usual question: "What did you find out?"

"Um…weren't you mind-raping one of us?" Uncle Dean asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, long enough to listen to you make fun of musical participants. By the way, we a _geeks_, not _dorks_."

"Well, sorry Princess, I didn't know I was hurting your feelings," Uncle Dean said. He started up the Impala and began heading down the busy road. He made it about fifty feet before he had to slam on his brakes. Chicago is not fun during rush hour.

Dad sighed. "Well, by the looks of it, Meredith was mauled pretty badly. In fact, her heart was missing."

That confused me a lot. "What kind of creature would steal a heart?"

"A werewolf," Uncle Dean said. "However, the lunar cycles aren't right."

"But we also found this weird symbol," Dad said, handing me a rough sketch of what looked like a circle with two bent lines coming off it. "You don't happen to recognize it from anywhere, do you?"

I shrugged. "It looks familiar," I said. As part of my hunter training, I was expected to learn as much information as possible about monster folklore and what different symbols meant. "I might have came a crossed it somewhere."

Uncle Dean sighed. "I don't know about you two, but I am starved and in dire need of something numb-inducing. Who's up to go to a bar—to ask about Meredith, of course?"

Dad was not a huge fan of dragging me to any sort of bar. But after much discussion, Uncle Dean won out—mainly because it did have to do with the case. Apparently Meredith worked at that bar.

We stopped at the hotel we were staying at so that Dad and Uncle Dean could change out of their security maintenance worker outfits.

It was a pretty nondescript bar. The smell of cigarette smoke clung in the air, the noise was a deafening levels and I was miserable after only five minutes of being here.

Almost upon entering the bar, Uncle Dean went to talk with the bartender to see—but probably did more flirting than discussing her deceased co-worker. Dad and I took a table in the far corner where the noise wasn't as bad. He worked on figuring out the case while I played games on my phone.

Dad was always on my case on helping with research. However, I have a feeling that he wanted to do this himself. Just call it a hunch, but I think he is spooked about this job, and Dad is never spooked easily.

Which was just as well—I was fine with trying to beat my best score on Tetris.

"So, I talked with the bartender," Uncle Dean said, taking a seat next to me. I shifted down the bench seat to make room for him.

"What did you get besides her number?" Dad asked, still enthralled in the newspaper clipping he was studying.

"Hey, I am a professional," Uncle Dean said. "I am working a case. I am insulted that you would think that of me."

Dad and I just glared at him.

Uncle Dean released his cheeky grin and held up a napkin with the bartender's phone number scrawled onto it.

"Do you mind thinking with your upstairs brain, Dean?" Dad asked him.

Uncle Dean sighed. "There's nothing to find out. Meredith worked here. She waited tables and hung out with friends. Everyone says she's normal. She didn't do or say anything weird before she died." Silence between us hung in the air for a few moments. "What about the symbol? Find anything?"

"No," Dad admitted. "Nothing in Dad's journal nor in any of our books. I'll just have to dig a little deeper I guess."

"Well there was the first victim—before Meredith, right?" Uncle Dean asked.

"Whoa, there was another victim?" I asked. This was news to me.

"Yeah," Dad said, sifting through the papers. "His name was Ben Swordstrum. Last month, he was found mutilated in his townhouse. Same deal: door was locked, the alarm was on…."

"Any connection?" Uncle Dean asked.

"Nothing that I can tell," Dad said. "I mean, not yet. Ben was a banker and Meredith was a waitress. They never met, they didn't know anyone in common…they were practically from different worlds."

"Okay, recap: the only useful intel we have scored so far is the bartender's phone number."

I rolled my eyes and looked at Dad, expecting some sort of bitch face. However, he seemed to be looking past Uncle Dean with confusion written all over his face.

Uncle Dean and I followed his line of sight. When we didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, we turned back to him. "What?" Uncle Dean asked.

Abruptly, Dad stood up and walked past the crowd of people and headed towards some chick sitting at a table alone.

"Sam?"

"What the hell is he doing?" I asked Uncle Dean, as if he knew the answer.

He simply shrugged. "The chick doesn't look familiar—well, at least not to me." He turned back around in his seat and faced me. "Does she look familiar to you? Some sort of family friend from Palo Alto?"

I continued to study the chick. She looked cute, I guess. Her blonde hair was cut short and she smiled at Dad like she knew who he was.

"No clue," I muttered. "She could be a co-worker or maybe even a client at the law firm Dad used to work at."

Uncle Dean chuckled. "At least he lived his dream as a lawyer."

"Paralegal, actually," I said. "Thanks to me, he couldn't afford to go to law school. He didn't quite earn a full ride to one."

"Shame," Uncle Dean said. "I mean, I'm sure he was damn proud to have you. He would have made a helluva lawyer, that's all."

"Yeah," I said, "he knows how to B.S. his way through stuff."

"Maybe we should go introduce ourselves either way," Uncle Dean said, already standing up and heading towards Dad and the mystery lady. I followed after him.

It was weird and I really don't know how to explain it. As we got closer and closer to the lady Dad was conversing with, unease grew within me. By the time was only about five feet away from her, I felt nausea rise up and a headache coming on.

There was something about her that wasn't settling right with me.

"Oh," she said, as if replying to a question Dad asked her. "I went, I saw, I concurred. Oh, and I met someone. I think it was Michael Murray at a bar."

"Who?" Dad asked her, confused.

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. The wind direction changed, so I'm living here for a while."

Despite my freaky feelings towards her, I was kind of glad she made a _Mary Poppins_ reference with the whole "wind direction" thing.

Uncle Dean cleared his throat to get Dad's attention. He was completely oblivious.

"You're from Chicago?" he asked her.

"No," she replied. "Massachusetts…Andover." In an obvious attempt to change the subject, she said, "Gosh Sam, what are the odds that we would run into each other again?"

"I know," Dad said. "I never thought I'd see you again."

She gave him a wicked smile. "Well, I'm glad you're wrong."

There was a lull in the conversation, so Uncle Dean took this time to clear his throat again. This time, he was a little louder and more obnoxious about it.

"Cover your mouth," the mysterious lady said, dishing out some attitude.

Dad smiled sheepishly. "I'm—I'm sorry, Meg. This is…this is my brother, Dean, and my daughter, Liz."

Meg (I guess) looked positively shocked. "This is Dean?" she asked, rudely pointing a finger at him.

"So, you've heard of me," Uncle Dean said, giving Meg one of his famous lighthearted smirks that somehow swoons the ladies.

"Oh yeah, I've heard of you," Meg said, her voice thick with disdain. "Nice how you treat your brother like luggage."

As Meg's anger grew, as did my headache. It took all my willpower to act like nothing was bothering me, despite the fact that my head felt like it was being split in two.

Uncle Dean was taken aback. "Sorry?"

"Why won't you let him do what he wants to do?" Meg asked him. Stop dragging him and his daughter over God's green earth."

"Meg, it's alright," Dad assured.

Uncle Dean whistled sharply. "Well...awkward. ...I'm going to go get a drink now."

"I'll join you," I said. As I walked away from Meg, my nausea died away and my headache dimmed to a throbbing ache. Overall, I felt loads better.

We walked up to the bar and Uncle Dean ordered a scotch. I settled for Coke. "I don't like her," I said. "Just…something's off about her."

"I know what you mean," Uncle Dean muttered, downing the amber liquid.

"No, not just a gut feeling," I said.

"Are you talking about a psychic one?" Uncle Dean asked, suddenly serious.

I nodded.

Uncle Dean ordered another drink—making this one a double. "Great, just what we need. Yet another freaky thing to add to the table."

"I hope you mean Meg and not me," I said, taking a sip of my Coke.

"You aren't a freak," Uncle Dean reiterated. "You know, you are a lot like Sam."

I sighed deeply, ignoring Uncle Dean's comment (I didn't know if it was a compliment or an insult). "The big question is: is she somehow related to these murders?"

"That's a long shot," Uncle Dean said. "But I am certainly not ruling it out."

A few minutes later, Dad came up to us. "Let's get out of here," he said, almost sounding panicked.

Uncle Dean paid the bartender and the three of us left.

"Who the hell was she?" Uncle Dean asked.

"I don't really know," Dad admitted. "I've only met her once. Meeting up with her again…I dunno, man, it's weird."

"What was she saying? I treat you like luggage? What, were you bitching about me to some chick?"

"Look, I'm sorry, Dean. It was when we had that huge fight when I was at that bus stop in Indiana."

I remember that. It was the first—and only—time John called. He said he had a hunt that we needed to take care of and Dad flipped out saying that we should be looking for him instead. I sided with Uncle Dean on this one, thinking that Dad was way off on that one. So, while Dad went on some hitchhiking attempt to find John, Uncle Dean and I took care of the hunt…well, until we became the sacrifice to some ancient god and Dad must have came to his senses and rescued us.

Yeah, that was definitely not a golden Winchester moment.

"But that's not important, just listen to me—"

"Is there any truth to what that chick said?" Uncle Dean asked, cutting Dad off. "Am I keeping you and Liz against your will, Sammy?"

"Don't drag me into this," I shouted at the same time Dad said: "No, of course not. If you would just listen—"

"What?" Uncle Dean snapped.

"I think there is something strange going on here, Dean," Dad said, trying to act civilized.

"Yah think?" I cried. "I felt _sick_ being around her."

"You what?" Dad asked. "What do you mean you felt sick around her?"

"I mean, I felt like I was going to throw up and I had a headache that was almost equivalent to a vision when I was around her."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Dad asked.

"I told Uncle Dean afterwards," I said.

Dad just sighed. "I think this might be a lead. I mean, I met Meg weeks ago on the side of the road and suddenly I see her in a random Chicago bar. The same bar where a waitress was murdered. Between that and Liz's _feeling_, there is a strong case against her."

"Makes sense," Uncle Dean said. "But it's still a long shot."

"It isn't like there are any other leads," Dad argued. "Just…just look up if there really is a Meg Masters from Andover, Massachusetts and see if you can find anything on that symbol from Meredith's apartment."

"What are you gonna do?" Uncle Dean asked him.

"I'm going to watch Meg." Before Uncle Dean could comment, Dad added, "You know, to see what's what."

"Yeah, okay," Uncle Dean muttered.

"Dean!"

"We're going. We're going."

Uncle Dean and I walked back to the motel room and immediately got to work.

"I call researching Meg," I said, already opening my laptop.

"Why do you get the easy one?" he asked me.

"Because you have more experience with researching," I said. "Besides, I'm a better hacker than you are."

He just rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever." I figured he'd dive right into the books, but he instead pulled out his cell phone. "I have other sources."

After an hour or so of hacking and talking to an old friend of John's, we come to a few conclusions. We called Dad, putting him on speaker so we could both talk to him.

"Hey," Dad said, via the phone.

"Let me guess," Uncle Dean said, a playful smile on his face. "You are lurking outside the girl's apartment, aren't you?"

Dad snorted. "No."

Uncle Dean and I remained silent, giving Dad a chance to tell the truth.

"Yes," he finally admitted.

"Dude, you have a funny way of showing affection," Uncle Dean said.

Dad growled. "Did you find anything on her?"

"Yeah," I said. "This Meg Masters chick checks out. She lived in the Andover phonebook. I can even pull up her high school photo."

"Now, why don't you go knock on her door," Uncle Dean instructed, "and invite her to a poetry reading or whatever it is you do."

Even though I couldn't see him, I knew Dad was shaking his head. "What about the symbol?"

"Yeah, I had luck with that," Uncle Dean said, as if I was a failure for finding information that Meg Masters is a legit person. "Apparently it's bizorro astrian. It's very, _very_ old school. Like, two-thousand years before Christ. It's a sigil for adava."

"What's adava?" Dad asked.

"Translation: demon of darkness," Uncle Dean elaborated. "It's a bizorro astrian demon, savage, animalistic…very nasty attitude—sort of like a demonic pit-bull."

"How'd you figure that out?" Dad asked, sounding amazed.

"He called Caleb," I said, glad that I was able to knock down some of Uncle Dean's ego points.

I could hear Dad chuckling over the phone.

"The thing is," Uncle Dean pressed on, "these things need to be summoned."

"So…someone's controlling it."

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying."

"By the sounds of it, it looks like some pretty risky business," I chimed in, looking over some of the notes Uncle Dean took during his conversation with Caleb.

"Hey, don't be stealing my thunder."

"Dean, you never had thunder."

"Shut up!"

I couldn't help but silently laugh.

"It's the type to bite the hand that feeds it…and the arm…and the torso."

"So what do they look like?"

"Well, no one has really seen them in a couple millennia," Uncle Dean said.

"With a demon that ancient, someone must know their stuff," I added. "We have a major player in town."

"Now," Uncle Dean said, "why don't you go give that girl a strip-o-gram."

"Bite me!"

"No, bite her."

"I am so out of here," I said, not really wanting to hear any of this. Hello, how could Uncle Dean honestly think that Dad was interested in this chick? Hello, Mom only died a few months ago!

I walked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind me. I leaned against the door, trying to get my bearings. When Uncle Dean first started teasing Dad about Meg, I didn't think he was serious. However, it really made it sound like he _wanted_ them to hook up or something.

I don't like this one bit—and it isn't just the usual daughter-feeling that tends to happen with parents start to date other people. No, this also had to deal with the sickening feeling I felt when I was just around her.

"Liz, you okay?" Uncle Dean knocked lightly on the door, trying to get my attention.

"Yeah," I said, surprised how calm and even my voice sounded.

"How come you haven't turned on the lights then?"

I didn't even realize that I was in complete darkness. I flipped on the light and stepped away from the door.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Positive," I lied.

Uncle Dean sighed. "Look Liz, I'm sorry for the comments. I hope you know I don't mean any of them. I highly doubt Sam actually has a crush on this Meg chick."

I knew he was right, but it didn't make me feel any better. Most of the time, I am able to shove the hurt I feel from losing Mom. But when those emotions rise to the surface, it hurts more than any physical wound.

"Liz?"

"Just leave me alone, okay?"

Wordlessly, Uncle Dean shuffled away from the door. I felt bad for pushing him away, but I just didn't want to deal with it right now.

I didn't want to deal with any of it.


	16. Silence

_Author's Note: So, I actually have a little bit of free time for a couple of weeks, so I will write more often thus updating more often. I just want to thank everyone for their constant support. Especially AccioInspiration since she is always there for advice and encouragement. For those who reviewed, you guys rock my world!_

**Chapter XVI - Silence**

Even after calming down, I didn't want to leave the bathroom. I didn't want to have to deal with the awkward confrontation with Uncle Dean that was guaranteed to happen. What made me most thankful what the Uncle Dean didn't push it, either.

Time passed. It was hard to tell how much, but it must have been a while since I heard Dad come in. I pressed an ear up against the door so I could hear what was going on better.

"Dude, I gotta talk to you!" the both called at the same time.

"What you got?" Uncle Dean asked after a few silent moments.

"It's Meg," Dad said. "Meg is summoning the demon."

"Wait…hot little Meg is summoning the demon."

I knew something was up with her.

"It looked like she was using a black altar to control the thing. She was…she was talking into a bowl like witches used look into crystal balls or animal entrails in order to communicate with someone."

"What? Like the dava?"

"No, you said they were savages. This is something different—someone who is giving her orders. Someone who is going to that warehouse."

There was a long lull of silence. I almost opened the door—almost, but not quite.

"Holy shit," Uncle Dean finally said, sounding utterly exhausted.

"What?"

"What I was going to tell you earlier. I pulled a favor with my friend, Amy, from the police department. I got the complete records of the two victims that we missed the first time."

"What?"

"The first victim—the old man—he spent his whole life in Chicago, but he wasn't born here. Check out where he was born."

A sickening silence hung in the air. "Lawrence, Kansas."

"And the second victim, Meredith, was adopted. Look where she is from."

"Lawrence, Kansas."

"Wha?" I whispered, suddenly feeling like I should make my presence known. This was big—huge, even. That means that the two victims are loosely related to us.

"Holy shit," Dad said, mimicking Uncle Dean earlier.

"Yeah."

"That is where the demon killed Mom—it's where everything started," Dad continued. "Do you think that Meg is tied up with the demon?"

"That's a possibility."

"What I don't understand is the significance of Lawrence? And how are the dava part of all this?"

"I say we trash that black altar, grab Meg and have ourselves a little interrogation."

"We can't. We can't tip her off. We have to stake out that warehouse and find out who she is summoning…or what is showing up to meet her."

"I can tell you one thing—we shouldn't do this alone."

"I'm not dragging Liz—"

"I'm not talking about Liz. I'm talking about Dad."

An uncomfortable silence could be felt even from the bathroom. I could almost feel a fight between them coming on, but I was sorely mistaken.

"Yeah, okay," Dad finally said. "We don't have many other options."

"I'll call him," Uncle Dean said. I could hear the scraping of chairs as if they were standing up. "But you really need to talk to Liz."

"What? Why?"

"She's been holed up in the bathroom since our little conversation on the phone. She's royally pissed off."

I wouldn't say I was pissed off—more like very upset.

Dad sighed. "Yeah, okay."

My heart began to beat out of my chest. Please, no. I don't want to deal with this. Just leave me alone. Please.

"Hey Liz," Dad said, knocking on the door. "Can I come in?"

I sighed deeply. "Yeah," I said, shuffling to the side so he could open the door. I might as well deal with the inevitable.

Dad walked in and slowly closed the door behind him. "Do you wanna tell me what's bothering you?"

I sighed deeply. "It's just…listening to Uncle Dean talk about you and Meg, it just…"

"Made you upset," Dad offered.

I nodded.

"Look," Dad sat down next to me on the bathroom floor. "I didn't like it either. But you don't have to worry about me and Meg—even before we found out she is some sort of satanic witch, I would never consider her." Dad put a gentle arm around me and pulled me into an awkward hug. "It's…it's still too soon."

A comfortable silence fell between us. "Hey Dad?" I finally asked, unable to stop my voice from squeaking.

"Yeah…"

"I get a say on the next person you date, right?"

Dad chuckled dryly. "And if I say no?"

"You won't say no," I said.

"Why won't I say no?"

"Because I won't let you say no."

"And if I refuse to say yes?"

"That will be the equivalent of saying no."

"I guess I can't pull anything on you, can I?"

I smiled up at him. "No. No you can't."

"Yes," he finally said.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I helped Dad collect everything that would be needed for this "fight of the century" that they were about to face. I wanted to go with them as back-up, but Dad immediately shot that down.

"Look Liz," Dad said, practically grabbing everything from the trunk of the Impala. "We have no clue what we are up against. I know you can handle yourself in dangerous situation. However, I think it would be best if you just sit this one out."

As much as I wanted to argue, I didn't. I still didn't like it just being Dad and Uncle Dean, even if they did call Grandpa for reinforcements. Thus far, he has ignored our cries for help. I wonder if he will really listen to us this time.

"Yeah, okay," I said, trying to keep my voice cool and even.

"Look, I'm not pushing you away—"

"No, I understand," I said, remembering back to when Dad first explained to me what this life would entail. It seemed like centuries ago. "Just…just be careful."

Dad slammed the trunk shut. "I promise."

We walked back up to the motel room just as Uncle Dean slammed his phone shut. He must have taken a while to mentally prepare himself for what he needed to say.

"What the hell do you have in there?" Uncle Dean asked Dad, motioning towards the duffle.

"I ransacked the trunk," Dad admitted. "Holy water, every weapon I could possibly think of, and exorcisms from at least a half-a-dozen different religions. We don't know what we're up again, so we better be prepared for everything."

I jumped onto the bed while the boys played with their toys.

"Big night," Uncle Dean muttered after a silent moment.

"Yeah," Dad said. "Nervous?"

Uncle Dean shook his head. "No. Are you?"

"No."

They were both so lying—I didn't need my freaky psychic ability to know that.

The only sound that could be heard was the sound of preparing the guns for battle. Their sole focus was in the battle that lied ahead. I was slightly angry that I couldn't help them, but, in many ways, it seemed fitting that they were doing this alone. Granted, I wanted revenge as much as them, but they suffered more because of it. They lost their mom, their childhood, their innocence—killing this thing and stopping other monsters has always been their life.

"Can you imagine if we catch the damn thing?" Dad asked Uncle Dean, sounding almost like a little kid going to Disney World for the first time.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here," Uncle Dean replied.

"I—I know. I'm just saying…what if we did?" He was uncharacteristically sheepish. "What if this whole thing was over tonight?"

Over…completely over. That seemed impossible. There was no way this could ever be over. Even if it did end tonight, this'll probably cause something bigger to happen and then we'll be in a bigger mess then when we started.

"Man, I'd sleep for a month," Dad said, not waiting for Uncle Dean's reply. "Go back to work, maybe even try to get into law school…" he looked in my direction and I couldn't help but turn away. "Give Liz back the life she deserves."

"Back to normal, huh," Uncle Dean mocked.

"What's wrong with wanting normal?"

"Nothing…it's just great for you and Liz."

"Well, what are you going to do when this is all over?"

"It'll never be over," Uncle Dean said. "There are always going to be others. There's always going to be something to hunt."

"There's gotta be something you must want for yourself," Dad insisted.

"Yeah, I don't want you to leave the second this thing is over, Sam."

My breathing hitched. I was tempted to leave the room and leave the two of them to have a Dr. Phil session, but I stayed. I remained sitting on the bed—being the usual spectator as I watched this chick-flick moment unfold. It was easier to be a spectator acting like I didn't have a part in this even though I wanted one. I pretended like this wouldn't affect my life—it was the only way.

"What is your problem?"

Uncle Dean leaned against the dresser, as if in need of support. In a matter of seconds, he looked like he aged a lifetime.

"Why do you think I drag you and Liz everywhere?" he asked Dad. "Why do you think I went and got you at Palo Alto?"

"Because Dad was in trouble. Because you wanted to find the thing that killed Mom"

"Yes that, but it's more than that, man," Uncle Dean shouted. Silence was the elephant in the room, silence and tension. "You and me and Dad and now Liz—I…I wanted us to be together again. To be a family again. I mean, Jesus Christ, I didn't even know you had a kid."

"We are a family," Dad said without hesitation. "But things will never be like the way they were before."

I felt slightly at fault here. I've always wondered about Dad's mysterious past. Now I'm living it. The way Uncle Dean said "and now Liz" made me feel like I was intruding on sacred ground. This felt like it should be about two brothers in search of answers and revenge, not two brothers and a daughter.

"They could be," Uncle Dean finally said.

No, they couldn't be. Not with me around. I changed everything just by simply existing.

"I don't want to live this life forever," Dad said. "I don't want Liz to be in this life either….Dean, when this is all over, you're going to have to let us go our own way."

Uncle Dean looked at Dad with a hurt look in his eyes. This was…this was all too much. I don't think I can handle any more of this. I was actually thankful that the two of them gathered their weapons and headed out the door, the only words spoken were from Dad saying to do my schoolwork and that he'll call us the moment it is over…whatever _it_ is.

For a while, I tried to force myself to fall asleep in hopes that I would mind-rape either Dad or Uncle Dean in hopes of getting information that way. However, my mind would not shut down long enough for me to fall asleep. The one freaking time I want to mind-rape, I can't do it.

It seems like I always get the short end of the stick when it comes to life.

Unable to lie down any longer, I stood up and began pacing the room. I was really starting to freak out about what was happening—even though I hadn't a clue what was happening. Too many scenarios ran through my head—many of which were bloody and…and I'd rather not talk about them.

"Calm down, Liz," I hissed at myself. "The last thing you need to do is start to hyperventilate."

Hoping something to drink would help calm my nerves, I crossed the short distance to the little kitchenette. From the fridge, I produced a can of Coke. I eyed the beer next to the soda, but I was pretty sure Uncle Dean kept inventory on his precious alcohol. Besides, I don't like the smell of beer anyway.

I opened up my laptop and sat down at the table. Dad told me to do my schoolwork and, with nothing else to occupy my time, I might as well do it.

I was working some worksheets for history when I heard the doorknob shaking. "That's weird," I mumbled to myself. Dad promised to call me when they finished up. Did he forget to call me? It had only been a couple hours. Surely a fight of this magnitude would last a hell of a lot longer.

Unless it wasn't Dad and Uncle Dean.

Panic rose up within me and I quickly ran to Uncle Dean's bed and grabbed the gun he had hidden in between the mattress and box spring. I checked to see that it was loaded and then removed the safety.

Cautiously, I quietly walked towards the door while keeping the pistol pointed at the door. I prayed to some higher power that I would have to actually pull the trigger.

I was about three feet from the door slowly opened, creaking as the entrance widened. Before I even had a chance to react something tackled me, sending me crashing to the floor.

"Who the hell are you?"

The voice was gruff in a menacing way. I tried to break his hold by wiggling free, but he kept his grip on my arms tight. Instead, I kneed him in the gut. It wasn't as powerful as I wanted it to be, but I caused enough pain that the man to weaken his hold on my arms and I was able to slide out of his grip.

I blindly searched for the gun. I was about to grab hold of the cool handle, but the man tackled me again and I was sent sideways into the wall.

The sound of the gun being cocked rang through the motel room. I looked up to see that the man was holding the gun and that it was pointing right between my eyes. One false move and I was done for.

"I'm not going to ask you again: who the hell are you?"

I turned my attention towards the man. He hand semi-long black hair and the beginnings of a full beard. I recognized the man from the few photos that Dad showed me of his childhood. He looked much older than in the pictures, but it was still the same man I had a million questions about. One of them being why the Winchesters tend to think that breaking and entering is the best way to pay a visit.

"Y-you're John Winchester," I said.

"Did I ask you what my name was?" He didn't give any indication on who he was, but I had a feeling that I was right on the money.

"I'm…I'm your granddaughter…Liz."

To say that John was confused would be an understatement. He kept the gun pointed right at me, but he seemed to second guess his intentions.

"I don't have a granddaughter."

That hurt—that hurt a lot.

"Sam's my dad," I said. "Which would obviously make you my grandfather."

John (Grandpa? What do I call him?) seemed to consider my words. "How old are you?"

"Twelve," I said. "Well, thirteen in a couple months, but who's counting?"

Guessing by the fact that every story I have heard about John Winchester made him sound like a drill sergeant who took no crap from anybody, I am pretty sure that he doesn't appreciate the attitude I was giving him.

"But…Sam's ran off to college fourteen years ago. How can he have a kid who's thirteen?"

"Yeah…he and my mom really didn't make the best of decisions when they first met."

John relaxed and let his arms fall to his sides. I cautiously stood up from the ground.

"I'm sorry about your mom," John said. "I heard about that. I just…didn't know about you."

I was surprised by that. I figured a man like John Winchester with seemingly unlimited resources would find out that he has a granddaughter. Then again, guys can be pretty unobservant.

"You know, as Sam's kid, I figured you'd be taller."

I sighed deeply. "You'd be surprised how many people have said that."

Silence fell upon us. I didn't know how to continue this conversation—even if it was my job to continue this conversation.

"Um…you know, Dean called you about helping them out at the—"

"Warehouse? Yeah, I know. The boys can handle it themselves. It isn't what they thought it was." He walked over to the fridge and grabbed a beer from it. I'll have to make it perfectly clear to Uncle Dean that it was not me.

He sat down at the table and put the gun next to his beer.

"Not to be rude or anything, but what are you doing here?" I asked him, sitting down across from him.

He took a swig of his beer before answering. "To warn them."

"About what?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

We sat there in awkward silence while he nursed his beer and I sipped at my Coke. There really was no where I could take this conversation…if I wanted to take it somewhere, that is.

"So, is 'Liz' short for something?" was John's attempt at sparking conversation.

"It's short for Elizabeth, which is my middle name," I said. I began to panic. That means I'm gonna have to tell him my first name. I didn't know how he was going to react to it. "My, um…my first name is Mary."

John chuckling was certainly not a reaction that I expected. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes, but the hilarity of the situation overpowered the emotional aspect of it.

"How am I not surprised Sam would name you after her?" I'm guessing that is a rhetorical question. "Did your mom even have a say in what to name you?"

"Well, Elizabeth is from her mom, so…kinda."

John shook his head in amusement and took another drink from his beer. "Mary…" he sighed, almost in a dream-like way. "She was…she was perfect." All signs of euphoria vanished from his features. "You know, you should be proud of the name," he said to me. "You may go by Liz, but I want you to be proud of your namesake. There is a lot of meaning behind it."

I didn't know what to say. From Dad and Uncle Dean, I learned a lot about Mary Winchester. I knew she was strong and independent, but also kindhearted and caring. I wish I had the chance to meet her.

"I know," I said, my voice sounding small and weak.

Now that I was over the shock of meeting John and we got a chance to talk, he wasn't a complete ass like Dad made him out to be. Yeah, it was still extremely awkward and I wasn't completely comfortable with him yet (well, not enough to call him grandpa, anyway), but I was beginning to believe Uncle Dean when he said we could be a family.

Too bad I was far, far from being right.

The jingle of keys on the other side of the door was audible from the inside. A twitch of a smile appeared on John's face. "Well, here goes nothing," he said.

I should have known by the way John was almost completely relaxed except for some mild anxiety that it wasn't a threat. However, I reached for the gun, prepared for whatever laid behind the door.

"That won't be necessary," John said, indicating the gun.

I never got a chance to ask him what he meant. The door swung open and I looked up to see Uncle Dean and Dad stepping inside. They looked road hard and put away wet, each with multiple cuts and bruises. Dad had a really nasty gash on his cheek that looked like it came from a wild animal.

Now I just felt like an idiot for thinking it was a threat.

John turned around to face the new arrivals. The look of recognition and bewilderment crossed both their faces. The tension was so thick in the air that I could have cut it with a knife.

"Dad," Uncle Dean said, breaking the constricting silence.

The three of them just looked at each other, all on the verge of tears. I have never remembered a moment so intense in my life. I was just standing there like a socially awkward penguin while this sappy reunion took place.

Without any further hesitation, Uncle Dean and John slowly walked towards each other. The hug was out of happiness relief—relief that everyone made it to this spot in one piece.

Dad walked towards them woodenly, as if he was questioning every step he took. John looked at his youngest son. "Sammy," he said. I was curious to see what emotions John was portraying, but he had his back to me.

I expected them to hug—I wanted them to hug, to say the honest truth. Instead, Dad just pulled his bag off his shoulders and placed it on the ground. Talk about anticlimactic.

"Dad, it was a trap," Uncle Dean said. I was surprised how quickly they recovered from such an emotional moment. Was that the typical Winchester fashion? Get something sappy done and over with and then move onto discussing the hunt? "I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I thought it might've been."

"Did you see any of it?"

"I was there long enough to see that girl take the swan dive. She was the bad guy, right?"

Well, out of all this, at least Meg is dead.

At least, we thought she was.

"Yessir," Dad and Uncle Dean said concurrently.

"Well, that doesn't surprise me," John continued. "It's stopped me before."

Dad looked at John, confused. "The demon has?"

"It knows I'm close….It knows I'm gonna kill him. Not just exorcise it and send it back to Hell. Actually kill it."

Uncle Dean asked the million dollar question. "How?"

Even though I couldn't see John, I was pretty sure he gave Uncle Dean a crooked smile. "I'm working on that."

It was almost like a flash of lightning struck my head. The head-splitting pain could be felt through my entire body. I blinked, trying to clear my eyes. I gasped in horror on what I saw.

I was still looking at Dad, Uncle Dean and John…but, I saw more than that. I saw these weird colors swirling around them. There were reds and oranges with hints of greens and grays. It was almost as if I was _seeing_ how their soul felt. I think I read about these somewhere in the many books I have encountered since discovering the truth. They were called auras and the colors were connected to a person's mood. Almost like a physical representation of them.

But almost as quickly as they appeared, the colors and the pain disappeared and I was left with the dim lighting of the motel room and confusion clouding my mind.

"We'll come with you. We can help."

From what I could tell, little to no time passed and no one noticed what happened with me. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"No Sam," John said, suddenly growing quiet. "Not yet." Before Dad could give his inevitable comment, John continued. "You gotta understand. This demon is a scary son of a bitch. I don't want you caught in the crossfire. I don't want you—"

"You don't have to worry about us," Dad said.

"Of course I do," John said. "You're my sons…you have a daughter to think about….I'm your father."

The seconds ticked by slowly. After that episode of seeing the auras, I kind of wished it would happen again. I wanted to know, to a certain extent, what they were feeling.

"Sammy, the last time we were together, we had one helluva fight."

"Yessir," Dad said, his voice void of any emotion.

"It's good to see you again. It's been a long time."

Dad looked like he was on the verge of tears, but he managed to keep his voice even. "Too long."

The hug I've been anticipating finally happened. I was about to overanalyze their movements, but something unsettling ran down my spine. I looked around, expecting to see something wrong, but all was right.

At least, it looked right.

But I couldn't shake this feeling.

In the time it takes for someone to blink, John was sent flying backwards into the counter. He clambered to the ground with a large thud.

Something slashed at Dad, sending him sprawling to the ground. "_NO!_" Uncle Dean shouted, before he was slammed into the wall.

I looked around, trying to mentally prepare myself for some sort of invisible attack. But none came.

Why wasn't the thing that attacked Dad, Uncle Dean and John not attacking me?

I couldn't help but watch in horror as the shadow demons attacked them. How was I supposed to fight off something that I couldn't physically touch?

_Think Liz, think…_

I couldn't concentrate past the screams of agony that came from Dad, Uncle Dean and John. They would know what to do in this situation, why couldn't I fucking figure it out?

Okay, so if shadow demons are, well, _shadows_. And a shadow's weakness is light, then…

I dove for the bag that Dad abandoned and searched through it. I found weapons upon weapons, but not quite what I was looking for. "C'mon, c'mon," I muttered as I pulled out guns that were useless in this situation.

I could have wept with joy when I found what I was looking for.

"SHIELD YOUR EYES," I cried, releasing the tab and threw the flasher towards the middle of the room. A blinding light that could be seen past my tightly closed eyes. I tried to work past it as I grabbed the weapons duffle.

Slowly, we were able to locate each other through the blinding light and awful-smelling fog. Since I was the only one without any sort of injury, I helped John hobble out of the motel room and down the hall. We didn't stop until we were outside and reached the Impala.

"Alright, c'mon," Dad said, opening the back door of the Impala. I passed John onto Uncle Dean so I could get the duffle bag into the Impala. "We don't have much time. Once the light goes out, they'll be back."

"Wait! Wait! Wait!" Uncle Dean demanded. "Sam, wait," he said, his voice lower and calmer. We held our silence, waiting for whatever Uncle Dean needed to say. "Dad can't come with us," he finally said.

Dad nearly exploded. "What are you talking about?"

"You boys are beat to hell," John chimed in.

"We'll be alright," Uncle Dean said, brushing off John's concern.

"We should stick together!" Dad shouted. "We'll deal with the demon—"

"SAM, LISTEN TO ME!" Uncle Dean growled, abruptly cutting him off. "We almost got Dad killed in there." Dad looked like he was going to argue, but Uncle Dean continued. "Don't you understand? They're not gonna stop. They are going to stop him—they are going to use us to get to him. Man, he's right. Dad's vulnerable when he's with us."

The impact of Uncle Dean's words was heart wrenching. In many ways, he was speaking the truth. However, I was going to side with Dad on this one.

"He's stronger without us," Uncle Dean added.

Dad shook his head. "Dad," he said, placing a firm hand on John's shoulders, "no. After everything…after all the time we spent looking for you…please, I gotta be a part of this fight."

"The fight is just starting," John said, "and we are all gonna have a part to play in it. For now, you gotta trust me, son. Okay, you gotta let me go."

Dad looked adamant on fighting this. But almost unwillingly, he nodded and released his hold on John's shoulders.

Wordlessly, John walked past the three of us and towards his truck. Once he made to the driver's side door, he turned towards us. "Be careful," he said. He looked like he had something else to add, but he instead climbed into his truck and drove away.

Not another word was spoken as the three of us climbed into the Impala, taking our usual spots. We watched John's taillights until he turned a corner and disappeared from view.

Dad and Uncle Dean looked at each other, silently agreeing that this really sucked. Uncle Dean started up the Impala and backed out of the alley, going the opposite direction of John. Once he got onto the main road, Uncle Dean pushed down on the gas, trying to leave this city, and worries, behind.


	17. Denied

**Chapter XVII - Denied**

"So…how come I never get shotgun?"

Uncle Dean was cruising down Interstate 35 in Texas. I sat in the back, as always. Dad was in his usual perch as shotgun. However, he was asleep with his mouth gaping open.

"Are you even old enough to legally sit in the front seat?" he asked me, rolling his eyes.

"Yes," I said. "I mean, Dad's asleep. He'd be a lot more comfortable in the back and I can get shotgun."

"You'll have to take it up with him," Uncle Dean said, rummaging through some old trash. He produced a white, plastic spoon as if it were the hand of God.

"What are you going to do with that?" I asked him.

"Watch and learn, short stuff," he said, placing the spoon into Dad's mouth. It hung there limply, as if Dad fell asleep eating something.

I couldn't help but snort. "Nice."

"Oh, it gets better." From his jeans pocket, Uncle Dean grabbed his cell phone and opened it up. He took a picture of Dad, his mischievous smile unrelenting.

"You are so dead," I said, grabbing my own cell phone and doing the same. Hey, might as well build up blackmail while I can.

"You done?" asked Uncle Dean. I nodded. He turned up the music and, at the top of our lungs, Uncle Dean and I began to sing the main chorus of "Fire of an Unknown Origin."

Dad jerked awake. He spat out the spoon in disgust. Uncle Dean dramatically drummed on the steering wheel to the drum solo while I rolled around in the backseat laughing my ass off.

"Ha ha, very funny," Dad said, his voice humorless. He turned off the music.

"Hey, your wide-ass mouth was right there. I'd be stupid _not_ to do something like that."

"C'mon, man. We're not kids anymore. We are not going to start that crap up again."

"Start what up?" Uncle Dean asked, innocently.

"That prank stuff," Dad explained. "It's stupid and it always escalades."

"Aw, what's the matter Sammy? Are you afraid of getting a little Nair in your shampoo again?"

I couldn't help but snort. "Dude, you got Nair'ed!"

"Shut up," Dad told me, "and where the hell were you when he shoved a spoon in my mouth?"

"I was sitting right here," I said. "I figured you could protect yourself from plastic utensils."

"Fine, if it's a prank war you want, it's a prank war you two'll get."

"Whoa—whoa, hold on, big guy." I shouted. "Who said I was going to be a part of this? I'm claiming Switzerland on this one."

"You can't claim Switzerland," Uncle Dean said. "You're either with me or against me."

"Look," I said, "yeah, it's funny—hilarious even. But if there is Nair involved, like heck I'm putting my luscious locks in the line of fire." I dramatically did an over-the-shoulder hair flip. "I'll be, like, a judge or something."

"Okay," Uncle Dean said. "How would you rate that?"

"What?"

"How would you rate that prank between one and ten?"

"Uh…I'd give it a five."

"Five? Why only a five?"

"The execution was good and having physical evidence that you did something, but there are a lot more funnier stuff you could have gone with."

"Fine, I'll settle for a five," Uncle Dean said. "Just be fair, okay. No favoring your dad just because he's the one your mom had sex with to create you."

"Comment: Ignored," I said, mentally crying just at the mirror thought of parental sex.

"Well, if we are done establishing how babies are made, where are we anyway?" Dad asked.

"Just a few hours outside of Richardson," Uncle Dean said. "Give me the low-down again."

Dad sighed, but grabbed the piece of paper with the information on the latest job on it from the dash. "About a month or two ago, these group of kids go poking around in this local haunted house."

"Haunted by what?" Uncle Dean asked.

"Apparently a pretty misogynous spirit since it takes girls and hangs them from the raptors." Dad turned around to face me. "And you are staying away from that place as fucking possible."

"But, Dad—"

"No buts on this one," Dad said. "I'm not taking any chances. You've already been through enough hunts. Sitting this one out is not going to kill you."

I let the argument drop. There really was not point in fighting. If a spirit was hanging girls who enter the premises, I pretty much fit the bill since I'm a girl and all.

"Anyone ID the body," Uncle Dean asked, hastily changing the subject.

"That's the thing," Dad said, relieved that the subject changed, "by the time the police got there, the body was gone. They say the kids we just yanking chains."

"Maybe they're right."

"Maybe," Dad agreed. "But I read a couple of the kids' first-hand accounts and they seem pretty sincere."

Uncle Dean seemed confused. "Where'd you read these accounts?"

Dad laughed sheepishly and I innocently looked out the window.

"Do you want to explain, Liz?" Dad asked, not looking behind at me.

"Explain what?"

"Explain to Uncle Dean what you found."

"Why should I? Why don't you?"

"Would one of you just tell me?" Uncle Dean asked.

"Well, instead of doing homework like I was supposed to be," I explained, "I decided to do some research on local paranormal websites in Texas."

Even though I could only see the back of his head, I knew Uncle Dean was rolling his eyes. "And what was this website called?"

"You got this one," I said, leaning back in the seat.

Dad chuckled nervously. "Hellhounds-lair-dot-com."

"Lemme guess: streaming live right out of Mom's basement."

"Yeah, probably," I muttered.

"Most of those websites wouldn't know a ghost even if it bit them in their persuader."

"Look," Dad said, suddenly growing serious. "We let Dad run off—big mistake. But, in the mean time, we need to find something to hunt."

"Alright, so where do we find these kids?" Uncle Dean asked, hastily, wanting to avoid the John-subject.

"Same place you find kids in a town like this," Dad said.

"The library?" I asked him.

"What?"

"Well, that's where I always went back in Palo Alto."

"No, try someplace a more sociable kid would go."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Apparently, sociable kids hang out at a place called Rodeo Drive-In. I'd take my reclusive library over some deep-fried-smelling place any day of the week.

While Dad and Uncle Dean talked with the kids that were at the haunted house, I absently ate my fries and people watched. After a few minutes, I got bored and pulled out my book.

"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?" some pimply-faced kid asked me.

I lowered my book and sized him up. He was about fifteen and looked like he was the intelligence of the dirty fork next to me—oh, sorry, that's an insult to forks everywhere. "Did it hurt when they dragged you from hell?"

A couple booths over, a group of kids sneered a collective "Oooh," towards their friend. I just rolled my eyes. I was not missing much by not having a proper adolescence.

"Beautiful and witty," the boy commented. "Tell me, is breaking hearts your hobby, because you can break mine anytime."

"Wow, something original. I have to applaud how someone so feeble minded can manipulate words to give an illusion that you have mastered the art of picking up women like an arbiter."

My semi-large words were lost on him. Without another word, the boy walked back to his friends who were laughing hysterically.

"Who the hell was that?" Uncle Dean asked, sitting down across from me. Dad sat down next to me, still keeping an eye on the kid.

"Some d-bag who thought he could woo me with his supposed charm and nonexistent good looks."

"How'd you scare him off, Cruella?"

"I just used the vocabulary of the average college student," I said. "So, what did you two get from the kids?"

"Many, _many _conflicting details," Dad said, finally releasing his glare from the kid. "Although, the three of them did point to the kid who took them: this kid named Craig."

"So, after we get something to eat, we're going to head over his way," Uncle Dean said. He reached over and took a handful of my fries.

I smacked his hand away. "Go get your own, hummingbird."

"Why did you just call me a hummingbird?" he asked.

"Because hummingbirds constantly eat, like you do," I said.

"How the hell did you know that?" Dad asked.

"Just read it on one of those websites that have completely useless, but interesting, facts."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

After dinner, we walked into a music store with loud punk-rock music pumping through the speakers. It looked like every other music store I've been in, but I was still in awe as I meandered towards the musicals section while Dad and Uncle Dean interviewed this kid named Craig Thurston.

Despite the distance and the loud noise, I was still able to keep an ear tuned towards Dad and Uncle Dean while still browsing for some new music since I was (somehow) starting to get sick of my collection. In fact, I actually started listening to Uncle Dean's just for a change in pace. To be honest, classic rock isn't half bad.

Do not tell him I said that.

"We are doing an article on local hauntings and, rumor has it, you might know of one," Dad said after one of Uncle Dean's many smart-ass remarks.

"You mean the Hell House?"

"That's the one."

"I didn't think there was anything to the story," Craig said.

"Why don't you tell us the story?" Dad suggested.

"Well, supposedly, back in the '30s, there was this farmer, Mordechai Murdoch, who lived with his six daughters. It was during the depression, his crops were failing and he didn't have enough money to feed his children. So I guess that's when he went off the deep-end."

"How?" Dad asked Craig, egging for more information.

"Well…he figured that it would be best of his girls died quick, rather than starve to death. So, he attacked them. They screamed and begged for him to stop…but he just strung them up…one after another. And then, when he was all finished, he turned around and hung himself. They say that his spirit is trapped inside the house forever…stringing up any girl who walks inside."

"Where'd you hear all this?" Uncle Dean asked.

"My cousin Dana told me. I dunno where she heard it from."

Finding nothing, I rejoined Dad and Uncle Dean just as Craig said, "You gotta believe me, I didn't believe it for a second."

"But now you do," Uncle Dean supplied.

Craig sighed. "I dunno what the hell to think. Look, I'll tell you guys what I told the police. That girl was real. She was dead. This was not a prank. I swear to God I do not want to go anywhere near that house ever again, okay?"

"Thanks," Uncle Dean said and the three of us left the music store.

Uncle Dean drove around until he found a semi-decent motel room to crash for the night. In the morning, Dad and Uncle Dean were going to go investigate Hell House…without me, of course.

"It's nothing personal, Liz," Dad said. "It's just…"

"No, I get it Dad. This crazy farmer is killing girls. I'm a girl. Thanks to you deciding to give me an X-chromosome instead of a Y-chromosome, I shouldn't go anywhere near that house."

"Seriously, you have poor grades, but you know that one, the male inadvertently decides the child's gender and two, the difference between X- and Y-chromosomes." Dad chuckled dryly as he climbed into bed. "You are full of surprises, Liz."

I shrugged. "What, I'm interested in science like biology and stuff. Sue me since the science class I'm currently taking focuses more on physics."

"What the hell are you two talking about?" Uncle Dean asked, walking out of the bathroom with only a towel around his waist. One would think that he would learn to grab a change of clothes _before_ he takes a shower.

"Sciencey things," I said, climbing onto the couch and adjusting the pillow.

"You know, you just ruined your credibility by saying that," Dad said.

"At least I still have my street cred," I said, trying to act gangster.

"Hey, do me a favor," Uncle Dean said. Before I could respond (no), he said, "Don't say that ever again."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The next morning, Dad woke up and I was in his mind.

Not a big shocker there. He just went about his morning routine like he had no idea that I was there, since he didn't have any idea that I was in his mind.

Him and Uncle Dean headed out towards Hell House without even bothering to let me know where they were going.

Hell House was literally in the middle of nowhere. It was about midmorning by the time they made it there. The place was run-down and I doubt even Windex could make those windows shine again. Mr. Clean just might get a run for his money.

"Can't say I blame the kid," Dad told Uncle Dean as the two of them headed towards the house.

"Yeah, so much for curb-appeal," Uncle Dean muttered.

Dad looked around at the house while Uncle Dean pulled out the EMF. The moment he pulled it out, it seemed to go haywire.

"You got something?" Dad asked.

"Yeah, the EMF's no good," Uncle Dean said. He indicated towards the electrical pole. "I think that thing still has juice in it. It's screwing with all the readings."

Dad sighed. "Yeah, that'll do it."

Uncle Dean pocketed the worthless EMF. "Let's go," Uncle Dean said and the two of them ventured into the house.

The inside of the house was just as bad as the outside. My allergies would be agonizing in the dusty and moldy place. Dust and grime coated everything so it seemed black.

But there were a few things that weren't so…old. Red and white candles stood on the mantel piece and there seemed to be many different symbols spray painted onto the walls. I recognized a few of them from the books I was forced to study, but it still didn't explain why they were there.

Uncle Dean let out a low whistle. "It looks like ole-man Murdoch was a bit of a tagger during his time."

"And after his time," Dad noted. "The reverse cross has been used by Satanists for centuries but this sigil of sulfur didn't show up in San Francisco until the sixties.

"Huh, that is exactly why you don't get laid."

Well, I'm ignoring that comment.

"What about this one? Have you seen this one before?"

Dad turned around. Uncle Dean was looking at a symbol where a dot was in the center with three lines coming out of it and a loopy line—kind of like an upside-down question mark—was on the bottom.

"No," Dad said, using his cell phone to take a picture of it.

"I have," Uncle Dean said. "Somewhere…"

Dad reached up and touched the symbol. "It's paint," he said. "It's pretty fresh, too."

"I dunno, Sam," Uncle Dean sighed. "I'd hate to agree with authority figures of any kind, but the cops might be right on this one."

"Yeah…maybe…"

A clunking sound echoed through the house. Already assuming the hunter's crouch, Dad and Uncle Dean pulled out their guns and tip-toed towards the place they heard the clunking sound. They stood on either side of the door. On Dad's signal, they kicked the door open, guns aimed and ready to fire.

They were greeted by two guys with flashlights and a camera. Not the typical ghost MO.

"Ugh, cut," the one with a beard and glasses said. The other one with short hair slammed the camera shut in disgust. "We discovered humans."

Well…this is weird.

"What are you guys doing here?" the short haired one asked Dad and Uncle Dean.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Uncle Dean asked defensively.

"Uh…we belong here," the bearded one said, almost sounding bored. "We're professionals."

"Professional what?" asked Uncle Dean.

"Paranormal investigators," the bearded one continued. From his pocket, he pulled out two business cards and handed one to Dad and one to Uncle Dean. "Here you go—take a look, boys."

"Oh you gotta be kidding me," Uncle Dean said, not sounding remotely amused.

"Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spangler…hellhounds-lair-dot-com…you guys run that website." Dad looked up from the business card to look at the two.

"Yeah, we are huge fans," Uncle Dean said, monotone. He walked towards the other side of the room, probably looking for signs of some sort of ghost presence.

"And we know who you are," the bearded one (Ed?) said.

Dad panicked for a moment. "Really?"

"Amateurs….Looking for ghosts and cheap thrills."

"Yeah, if you guys don't mind we are trying to conduct a serious investigation," the short haired one (Harry?) said.

"Yeah, do yah have so far?" Uncle Dean asked.

"Why don't you tell him about the EMF," Ed suggested to Harry.

Dad was taken aback. "EMF?"

"Electronic Magnetic Field," Harry elaborated, as if Dad didn't know what that was. "Spectral entities can cause energy fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector." Harry pulled out his own EMF that immediately began buzzing when he turned it on. "Like this bad boy right here."

"Oh wow," Ed said. "A G-1-8. It's hot in here."

"Wow," Dad said, matching Uncle Dean's sarcastic tones from earlier.

"Huh, so have you guys really ever seen a ghost before?" Uncle Dean asked.

Ed turned to Uncle Dean, as serious as can be. "Once, we were investigating this old house and a vase fell off the table."

"_By itself_," Harry said, making his voice sound eerie.

"Well…we-we didn't actually see it. But we heard it. I mean, something like that, it…it changes you."

I had no clue how Dad and Uncle Dean were keeping straight faces. If I was physically there right now, I would be laughing so hard my ribs would hurt.

The really sad thing was that these two bozos thought that they were professionals. That just added to the humor level.

"Yeah," Uncle Dean said, "I think we get the picture. I think we should go and let them get back to work."

"Yeah, you should."

"Sam," Uncle Dean said and the two of them left the house laughing their asses off.


	18. RealTime

_Author's Note: I thought that I should mention the real location that I got the aura color chart from. It says that Liz found it from some random website, but I actually found it off a website for a book series called _Evermore_. I haven't read the books, but I thought they look pretty interesting. Also, I am not advertising the series, I'm just citing where I got my information from...great, now I sound like my English teacher._

**Chapter XVIII - Real-Time**

When I woke up, I immediately got dressed and headed down to the library, which was where Dad was heading to do some research on Hell House. Even after running to Ed and Harry, there still might be something haunting that place, and it was still our job to stop them.

I found Dad sitting in the back corner of the library, reading some not-so interesting material. Before I had come here, I stopped at a coffee shop and bought two black coffees.

"Here is a peace offering. Please don't yell at me," I said, setting down the coffee next to Dad. I took a seat across from him and he studied me.

"How'd you know—"

Without even listening to the rest of his question, I pointed to my head. "I didn't have a choice," I said, grabbing one of the books he had stacked next to him. I was in his head long enough to know that he was looking up any information on Mordechai Murdoch.

"Thanks for the coffee," Dad said, taking a sip. Much like me, he had come to terms with my abilities. Still much like me, he doesn't really like them. But, he has to admit they do have their uses…when I wasn't in Uncle Dean's mind when he's about to have sex with that Renée chick. I can actually say that he still thinks about her, which is weird because he never really thinks about his other sexual partners like he does with Renée.

"So…Ed and Harry…" I said, trying to spark some sort of interesting conversation. We are going through the records of residence around the time Mordechai Murdoch was alive in hopes of getting more information on him. Let's just say that no one was interesting in this town during the great depression.

"Yeah, they're something else," he said, slamming a book closed and grabbing another. "Okay, have you been able to find anything on this Murdoch character?"

I shook my head. "Well…nothing on a _Mordechai_ Murdoch, but here's something on a Martin Murdoch." I scanned the information the little book held. "And, also, it doesn't mention anything about having four daughters but two sons."

Dad grabbed the book from me and scanned it. "According to this, he lived in that house during the time that Mordechai Murdoch was supposed to live in the house." Without warning, her stood up and headed towards the exit. "C'mon, I think you found something. We should go look for Dean."

We didn't have to search for long. The moment Dad and I exited the library, we noticed Uncle Dean walking along the sidewalk. I was about to ask what Uncle Dean was doing, but Dad immediately filled Uncle Dean in on what I found.

"What about you?" Dad asked. "What did you find?"

"Well, those kids didn't give us a great explanation on the dead girl, but I hit up the police station. No missing persons. It's like she didn't even exist."

Well, at least I know where he went.

We walked to the Impala with the two of them leading the way.

"Look man, let's face it, this gig is a bust. For all we know, these hell hound guys are making it all up."

"I guess you're right." Dad didn't look convinced, but he complied.

"I say we find a bar and some beer and leave this legend behind."

I rolled my eyes. It looks like yet another night spent at some sleazy bar. I'd rather go back to the diner and get hit on by people my own age than deal with the drunken creeps at the bars Uncle Dean tends to drag us to.

Uncle Dean climbed into the Impala. I was about to open the door so that I could, but Dad stopped me.

Confused, I watched him as he leaned down to watch Uncle Dean turn on the car. Music blared from the speakers, filling the Impala with the sounds of jazz-ish music.

Uncle Dean fiddled with the radio trying to turn off the racket, but also started the wipers and other buttons on his dash. Dad, chuckling, climbed into his seat. I shook my head, but also did the same.

"So, Liz, what's the verdict?" asked Dad, acting rather big-headed right now.

"Really, that's all you've got?" I asked him. "That's a three."

"A three? That's it?"

"Why must you both question my judgment?" I questioned him. "Hello, that is the oldest trick in the book. I remember doing that to teachers when I was in third grade."

"I think you have set expectations way to high on this one," Dad noted.

"Let the judge do her job, Sammy. I think she is fairly accurate when it comes to scoring." Uncle Dean put the Impala into gear and started heading off down the road.

"It's Sam and you're just saying that because she gave you a five on your crappy prank."

"Just think of it this way," I said, leaning against the back of their seats, "this is just the beginning."

Okay, so I really shouldn't be egging them on like this. But this was just too funny to pass up. They don't realize that I am completely unaffected by this one. I get to enjoy the prize without paying the price.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The two of them went out to the bar. I declined, using schoolwork as an excuse. Really, I just didn't feel like going out to the bar.

Besides, something was bugging me—really bugging me. It was about this case. I hardly doubt that this was a dead end, like Uncle Dean seems to think. I think there is something more to it that we aren't seeing.

It was about two AM when I decided to call it a night. Dad and Uncle Dean were still out, but that wasn't unusual. Hunters tend to drink their problems away.

Sleep took me fairly easily. Moments later, I understood why.

I was suddenly outside. At first, I thought that I was in either Dad's or Uncle Dean's head as they headed back to the house as if to see if they missed anything. However, there were two teenagers with my latest mind-rape victim.

And I knew for a fact it wasn't Dad or Uncle Dean.

"This is it," the boy said, looking at one of the girls. Her expression was filled with horror as she looked at the haunted house.

This could not be good.

"The point of no return," he said in a "spooky" voice.

"Really, c'mon guys," the girl said. "Why do I have to go in there?"

"Because, Jill," the girl I was mind-raping said, "you chose dare instead of truth. Which means you either have to grab a jar from Mordechai's cellar and you bring it back or—"

"You make out with me."

The girl—Jill—gave him an incredulous look. "I'll take the homicidal ghost, thanks," she said, grabbing the flashlight from him.

Honestly, I didn't blame her.

We watched as Jill slowly made her way into the house. She took her time, unsure of what she was doing.

"Would you ever take that dare?" the boy asked the other girl.

She snorted. "Hell no."

Jill walked into the house, the door closing automatically behind her. The two of them waited impatiently for their comrade.

"This is taking forever," the girl noted. "Why don't we just leave her here?"

"We can't do that," the boy retaliated. "It's bad enough she chose dealing with Hell House over making out with me."

The girl said nothing. She had a secret crush on this boy, and refused to do anything about it over ruining her friendship with Jill who he obviously had a crush on even though she wanted nothing to do with him.

Stereotypical teenage love triangle, I guess.

Minutes passed and still no sign of Jill. The remaining duo was really antsy at this point.

"She we go in and check on her?" the boy suggested. "Maybe she got lost."

"Maybe she ran out the other door and snuck back home. Maybe she was too chicken to do either one of the dares."

The boy shook his head. "C'mon, let's go check on the scaredy cat."

That's when they heard her screams.

"Oh, shit," they both muttered and then ran into the house. They looked around the ground level. When nothing was found, they ran to the cellar to find her body hanging by a rope on the ceiling.

The scene faded for me and I found myself back in the motel room—but not in my own head.

I was in Uncle Dean's. Dad and he were just coming back from the bar. There movements were slow and clumsy, but I was pretty sure they would sober up the moment I told them what I had just witnessed.

When I get back in my own body, that is.

"Well, looks like the little angel is mind-raping again," Uncle Dean said, sitting down on the bed closest to the door. He took off his boots with forced movements. All he really wanted was to go to bed.

"Do you really need to call it that?" Dad asked him, his eyes constantly moving back in my direction as he tried to gather things for bed.

"We've been over this, Sammy. What else are we going to call it? This isn't like you visions were there was already a set name for it in history."

"I know," he said. "I've looked it up. From what I can tell, there aren't any other documented cases like this. Well, there are some psychics who claim to be able to enter the mind, but this is way different then what they described."

"So, when you come up with a better name, let me know," Uncle Dean said. "For now, I call the shower first."

Well…let's just say that was awkward.

I was thankful when he went to bed. When he was asleep, that was pretty much the equivalence of me going to sleep, just in his head and not mine.

It wasn't until about six AM when I woke up in my own body. I immediately rose from the couch and walked over to Dad's bed and woke him up. It took some poking and prodding, but he eventually awoke enough to understand the dire situation.

"Someone was murder in Hell House," I said.

As predicted, he was wide awake in an instant. "How do you know?"

I pointed to my head. "Mind-rape."

"But…you usually—"

"Only see in yours or Uncle Dean's. Yeah, apparently not."

"What's going on?"

"Someone was murdered in Hell House and Liz doesn't just mind-rape us."

"Now look who's accepting that name."

"Not now, Dean," Dad said, grabbing some random street clothes from his duffle. "We need to get down to Hell House." He was about to run in to the bathroom, but froze at the threshold. "Do you think it was a vision or—"

"No, I think it was real-time," I said. "You're the one with visions, remember?"

Dad sighed, obviously annoyed with my attitude. But, whatever.

By the time we made it to Hell House, police officers were already on the scene, trying to figure out what was going on.

"Stay—"

"I know."

Dad and Uncle Dean climbed out and headed towards one of the boss-looking police officers. It wasn't a very long chat, but it gave them enough information to convince Uncle Dean that they missed something.

They agreed that that night, they were going to revisit the house to see what was going on. I was left in the Impala as back-up, even though Dad told me to only come in if I was absolutely sure it was a life-or-death situation.

Waiting is always the hardest part of the job. I'd take research over doing absolutely nothing while Dad and Uncle Dean risked their lives to save people from the forces of darkness. I'd rather be in the front lines then the last one to start.

The main chorus of "7½-cents" from _The Pajama Game_ scared the living daylights out of me. I looked down at the caller ID to see that it was Missouri calling.

Before I could say anything, Missouri shouted, "I oughtta whoop your butt, Mary Elizabeth Winchester."

"Nice to hear from you too, Missouri," I said, keeping my voice oddly even.

"How come you haven't called me about your latest psychic ability to surface?"

At first, I wondered how the hell she knew about the auras. Then I remember: it was Missouri. She just knows everything.

"Well there was a lot of shit going on and I didn't think anything of it until you just mentioned it."

Missouri sighed deeply. "What did I tell you? If something else happens to call me immediately."

"Yeah, well, a horde of shadow demons sort of attacked us. What was I supposed to do? Ignore the fact that they were beating my family to a bloody pulp and call you?"

"No," Missouri said. "But you could have called me during your travels between Illinois and Texas."

I didn't have an argument for that one.

"But what do the aura's mean?" I asked. "It seemed like a few seconds that I saw them, but it seemed like time just…stopped. No one else even noticed."

Missouri was silent. After a few tense moments, I considered asking what she was thinking.

"What colors did you see?"

I racked my brain, trying to remember the colors. "Uh…there was mostly red and orange with tiny bits of green and grey." I paused for a moment. "What does that all mean?"

"I'm not sure. I'd do some research on auras," Missouri suggested. "I'll look in some of my books, but I think since you have nothing to do for the time being that you should open up that computer you should be using for schoolwork and look up an aura color chart."

I was about to say good-bye, but Missouri added, "And tell your daddy. Not telling him about this could have consequences."

I promised and bade her good-bye. I followed her advice and decided to Google an aura color chart. The first thing to pop-up was a psychic website. I had no idea how reliable the website is, but it looked a lot better than the other websites I found.

**Red:** Energy, strength, anger, sexuality, passion, fear, ego

**Orange:** Self-control, ambition, courage, thoughtfulness, lack of will, apathetic

**Yellow:** Optimistic, happy, intellectual, friendly, indecisive, easily led

**Green: **Peaceful, healing, compassion, deceitful, jealous

**Blue:** Spiritual, loyal, creative, sensitive, kind, moody

**Violet:** Highly spiritual, wisdom, intuition

**Indigo:** Benevolence, highly intuitive, seeker

**Pink:** Love, sincerity, friendship

**Gray:** Depression, sadness, exhaustion, low energy, skepticism

**Brown:** Greed, self-involvement, opinionated

**Black:** Lacking energy, illness, imminent death

**White:** Perfect balance

The red made sense. There was a lot of tension, which could have been from the anger or previous fights. I was slightly confused about orange. It could either be courage or ambition, since they all have those feelings. Green was most likely compassion because the others wouldn't make much sense other than maybe deceitful. And gray…I'm not sure. It honestly sounds like it could be either of those.

The doors of the Impala flew open and I jumped up in fright. Dad and Uncle Dean climbed in, unable to drive away from Hell House fast enough.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked, looking between them. Both of them remained silent as they stared at the road ahead. Something really freaky must have happened in there if they are acting like this.

We were completely silent until we reached the motel. Dad immediately went into research and Uncle Dean hit the showers, muttering about getting moldy canned food on him.

"So, what happened?" I asked Dad after a few minutes of awkwardness. He was enthralled with his research and I claimed to be working on schoolwork to get out of it.

I know, I'm a bad person.

"Dean and I staked out the place," he began. "Of course, those two goons from that website you showed me where there. We were able to get rid of them, but then we were attacked by Mordechai."

"I thought that guy went after chicks," I noted. "I guess it makes sense with Uncle Dean."

"Hey!" Uncle Dean shouted, exiting the bathroom. "That's just offensive."

"Can't deny fact," said Dad, a playful smile on his face.

"Oh ha, ha, ha," Uncle Dean muttered, dryly.

We fell into silence. Dad went on with his research, I sat on the couch doing my schoolwork (legitly), and Uncle Dean sat on one of the beds drawing something on the notepad that came with the room.

"It's bugging the hell outta me," Uncle Dean suddenly grumbles. "This whole job is bugging me."

"What symbol are you talking about?" I asked him. He showed me his drawing of one of the symbols from the house. It was the upside down question mark with the lines coming off it. "I have no idea," I admitted.

"Well, another inconsistency is the legend of Mordechai hanging himself. I mean, did you see the slit wrists."

"Yeah," Uncle Dean said at the same time I said, "No."

"What's up with that? And that axe, too. I mean, ghosts are pretty strict about following the same pattern over and over."

"This one keeps changing," Uncle Dean realized.

"Exactly," Dad said, slamming a book down. "I'm telling you the way that story goes….Wait a minute…"

"What?"

"Someone added a new post to the hell hound site," Dad said. "Listen to this: 'They say Mordechai Murdoch was a Satanist who chopped up his victims with an axe before slitting his own wrists. Now he's imprisoned in the house for eternity.' Where the hell is this going?"

"I dunno about you, but this sounds like a really bad fanfic."

Uncle Dean immediately perked up. "Well…I have no idea what a fanfic even is, but I think I know where this whole thing started."


	19. Relativity

**Chapter XIX - Relativity**

"Hey Craig, remember us?" Uncle Dean asked as we walked into the music store. He didn't give Dad and me any information on why we were back here.

Craig turned around to face the three of us. He wore a pained expression, as if he had a headache or something. "Look, guys, I'm not up for any more of your questions."

"Ah, it's cool," Uncle Dean said, "we're just here to buy an album anyway."

Uncle Dean quickly flipped through some old records until he came up to a certain one. "You know," he said, trying to act casual, "I was trying to figure out what that symbol meant." He strolled towards Craig as he talked to Dad and me. "But, then I realized, it didn't mean anything. It's a logo for Blue Oyster Cult."

Okay, I had no idea what to expect, but I certainly wasn't expecting that.

"So, tell me Craig. Are you a far of the B.O.C. or just scaring the hell outta people?" Uncle Dean handed Craig the record. I got a glimpse of the picture on the back and, sure enough, there was that symbol within some sort of ruin thing. I guess I know what Uncle Dean was checking out the last time we were here. "So, why don't you talk about that house without lying through your ass this time."

Craig sighed. "My cousin, Dana, was on break from TCU. We were bored—looking for something to do. I showed her this abandoned dump we found. We thought we would have fun—make it look like it was haunted. So we painted some symbols on the walls—some from albums and some from Dana's theology textbooks. We found out this guy Murdoch used to live there so we made up some story to go along with that. So, we told people who told other people who told other people….and these two stupid guys put it on their website and everything just took a life on its own. I mean, I thought it was funny at first…now that girl's dead. It's…it's just a joke. You know, I mean. None of it was real—we made it up. I swear."

Wordlessly, the three of us walked away from Craig. Uncle Dean turned to the two of us and asked, "If none of it was real, how the hell do you explain Mordechai?"

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Uncle Dean opened the door to the motel room and threw the keys to the Impala on the table. I looked up at him from my laptop and gave him a confused look. He put his fingers to his lips, soundlessly asking for silence from me. I obeyed, mostly curious about what was in the plastic bag he was carrying.

"Hey, I'm back," Uncle Dean called, ripping open a package and sprinkling some sort of black powder onto Dad's clothes that he had laid out.

From the shower, Dad called, "Where did you go?"

"Out," Uncle Dean asked, unable to hide the snicker on his face.

That's when I realized what was going on. "Itching powder—"

Uncle Dean shushed me. "He'll hear you," he mouthed, continuing on with his age-old prank.

"So, I think I have a theory about what's going on."

"Oh, yeah," Uncle Dean said.

"I think Mordechai might be a topa."

"A topa?"

Dad opened the door to the bathroom and stepped out with only a towel around his waist. I smiled to myself, hoping that Uncle Dean would be caught. I know I am not supposed to choose sides, but I was secretly rooting for Dad. I mean, he was Nair'ed as a kid. But, Uncle Dean turned around to face Dad before he could get caught. Bastard.

"Yeah, a Tibetan thought form," Dad explained.

"Yeah, I know what a topa is. Hey, why don't you get dressed and we'll go get something to eat." Uncle Dean walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Dad looked incredulously towards him. He then turned to me and we met eye contact.

"Have fun," I said, slamming my computer shut and walking out the room without further comment.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I have to give Uncle Dean some credit. He is actually a pretty good actor. As we headed to our table after picking up our drinks, he looked at Dad nonchalantly as he danced a weird jig thanks to the itching powder. I was surprised that I could even keep up a poker face.

This was going to be a hard one to rate.

"Hey, you okay man?" Uncle Dean asked.

Dad just looked at him. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Liar.

"Alright, so, keep going about these topas."

"So, there was this incident in Tibet in 1915. A bunch of monks imagined a golem in their hands. They meditated on it so hard that they brought it to life out of thin air."

"So?" Uncle Dean asked, obviously looking bored. He was probably impatient on how long it was taking Dad to realize that he has been pranked.

Dad snorted. "That was twenty monks. Imagine what ten-thousand web surfers can do."

"Don't underestimate the power of the internet trolls," I commented, taking a sip of my coffee.

"I mean, Craig starts that story about Mordechai and it spreads online. Now, there are countless people online believing in the bastard."

"Wait, are you telling me that just because people believe in Mordechai…he's real?"

Dad squirmed in his seat, the effects of the itching powder really getting to him. "I dunno, maybe." He opened up his laptop, still squirming in his pants.

"People believe in Santa Claus, how come I'm not getting hooked up every Christmas?"

"Because you are a bad person," I told him.

"And, because of this," Dad said, turning his laptop towards Uncle Dean and I. I looked down at the screen which held a picture of one of the symbols. "That is a Tibetan spiritual sigil on the wall of the house. Craig was saying that they were painting symbols from a theology textbook. They painted this, not knowing what it was. Now, that sigil has been used for centuries for taking meditative thoughts and putting them under a magnifying glass. So, people are on the hell hounds website, thinking about Mordechai, and, I mean…I dunno. It might be enough to bring a topa to life."

"It would explain why he keeps changing."

"Right, as the legend changes, so do the things that people believe. So Mordechai himself changes."

"Like a game of telephone," I said, remembering that stupid game I used to play in elementary school. I would always purposefully change it, if I was in the middle, to something close to the original phrase but make it inappropriate. That was the only time I enjoyed playing that game.

"It would also explain why the rock salt didn't work."

"Because he isn't a spirit, per say. Okay, so, why don't we get this sigil thingy off the wall and off the website?"

"Well, it's not that simple. Once topas are created, they take on a life of its own."

"Okay, so how are we supposed to kill an idea?"

"Well…it isn't going to be easy with these guys helping us," Dad said, clicking around on his laptop. "Check out their homepage." There was a video of Harry and Ed last night at hell house where they actually got a miniscule glimpse of Mordechai's…idea? "Ever since they posted that video, they have gotten quadrupled over the last day alone."

"Okay, let's go," Uncle Dean said, climbing out of his seat.

"Where?" Dad asked, dancing around as he put his laptop back in its bag. It was only a matter of time before he couldn't ignore it any longer.

"We need to find a copy shop."

"Man," Dad groaned. "I think we got bad hotel soap or something."

Uncle Dean gave a majorly fake laugh. I could barely suppress my giggles.

"You did this?" Dad asked as Uncle Dean walked away. "And you knew?"

I quickly followed after Uncle Dean. Once the two of us made it to the Impala, he asked me, "So, what would you rate me?"

"A seven," I said.

Uncle Dean snorted. "Renée would've totally given me a ten."

I inwardly groaned. Just when I was about to forget he freaking reminds me.

"You know, maybe her and I should get together," he said. "I really don't like keeping business unfinished."

I literally felt like I was going to puke.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

We had everything set. Utilizing Dad's fancy-dancy hacking skills, we were able to locate Ed's and Harry's headquarters for their secret operations, AKA a trailer park.

Uncle Dean pounded loudly on the steel door.

"Who is that?" someone asked from inside the trailer.

"C'mon out here," Uncle Dean said. "I can hear you in there."

"It's them," someone muttered. Good to know that Dad and Uncle Dean made an impression on them.

The door opened and Harry and Ed poked their heads out. They did not look at all happy to see the three of us—well, particularly Dad and Uncle Dean. They have—technically—never met me before.

"Would you look at that," Uncle Dean said, "action figures in their original packaging. What a shocker."

"Guys," Dad said, going right into business-mode, "we need to talk."

"Um, yeah, guys, we're a little…ah, busy, you see," Ed said, drawing out his words.

"Alright then, we'll make this quick," Uncle Dean said, snickering slightly from my comment. "We need you to shut down your website."

Ed scuffed. "You know, these guys got us busted last night and that holding cell…"

"There was only one urinal and it was in front of people," Harry added. "I get stage fright!"

"Why should we trust you guys and…random chick we have never met before?" Ed asked, eying me suspiciously.

"Look guys," Dad began, "we all know what we saw last night in the house. But, now thanks to your website there are thousands of people who know about Mordechai."

"Which means hundreds of people are going to show up at the hell house and running into that person and somebody could get hurt."

"Yeah," Ed said, using a _so what_ tone.

"You know, maybe he's got a point," Harry said, looking pretty worried.

"No…no." Ed completely dismissed the thought.

"Nope." Harry changed his mind. Man, Ed has made Harry his little bitch.

"Okay, we've got an obligation…to our fans…to the truth…"

"Well, I've got an obligation to kick both your little asses right now," Uncle Dean said.

"Dean," Dad said, a warning tone in his voice. "Hey, you know. Forget it. These guys…I could bitch-slap them both. I could probably tell them about that thing with Mordechai—" Dad paused as Ed and Harry immediately perked up by his words. "—but, they are still not going to help us. Let's just go."

"Yeah, you're right," Uncle Dean said and the three of us turned towards the parked Impala.

"Whoa, whoa, wait guys."

"Wait a second here."

"Hold up a minute."

"What thing about Mordechai?"

"Tell them, Sam," Uncle Dean said, shaking his head. He couldn't believe that this was actually working.

Dad knew it wasn't fool proof, but it just might work out in the end.

Crap, there goes that sensing feelings thing again. It reminded me about Missouri's warning. I should tell them about the auras soon. Maybe after this whole thing with hell house is over.

"Only if they agree to shut the website down, Dean."

"They're not going to do it," I said, sensing that they were totally going to post whatever we were about to say. Ed and Harry knew we were serious ghost hunters and they would most likely believe whatever we told them….

…If we told them.

"Yeah, Harry said it himself," Uncle Dean said.

"Hey, forget about him. We'll do it."

We stopped in front of the Impala. "It's a secret," Uncle Dean said, almost sounding like a teenage girl teasing a boy she likes.

"Look, it is a pretty big deal and it wasn't easy to dig up," Dad said, lying it on really thick now. "So, only if we have your word that you'll shut everything down."

"Totally," Ed said. Like hell he was passing up on juicy information about hell house. Since their video went viral, they'd do pretty much anything to keep their fan base going…even if they had to make false promises in order to do so.

"Alright," Dad said, giving Uncle Dean the indication to pull out the big guns—or big paper, I should say. "It's his death certificate…from the thirties. We got it from the library." Uncle Dean handed Ed the certificate. "According to the coroner, the actual cause of death was a self-inflicted gunshot wound."

"That's right, he didn't hang or cut himself," Uncle Dean added.

"Shut up," Harry said, truly amazed by what we were telling him. "He shot himself?"

"Yep, with a forty-five pistol," Dad said. "To this day, he's terrified of them."

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, they say if you shoot him with a forty-five loaded with these special wrought iron rounds, you could kill the son of a bitch."

Harry could barely contain his excitement. He was running to the trailer before another word could be said. Ed followed after him, trying to keep his cool.

After the two of them disappeared into the trailer, I turned to Dad and Uncle Dean and said, "I think they believed us."

"Yah think?" Uncle Dean muttered.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

We went to the bar. Dad and Uncle Dean ordered a couple of beers and I got my usual coke. Dad had his laptop open and was working away on it. Every once in a while, Uncle Dean would pull on this chain and an electronic sailor holding a fish would cackle in this weird laughter that was annoying as hell. I was thankful for Dad who would pull on it again to make it stop.

"If you pull that string one more time, I'm going to kill you," Dad threatened.

After a weird little staring contest between them, Uncle Dean pulled on the chain. Dad quickly pulled on it again and Uncle Dean just chuckled.

"C'mon man, you need more laughter in your life," Uncle Dean said. "You know, you're too tense."

Dad choked on his beer. He quickly set it down and started typing on the laptop.

"Did they post it yet?" I asked.

Wordlessly, Dad turned the laptop towards Uncle Dean and me. I leaned forward and read what was on the screen.

"We have learned from a reliable source that Mordechai has a fear of firearms," Uncle Dean nodded in approval. "Alright, how long do we wait?"

Dad slammed his laptop shut. "Long enough for the story to spread and the legend to change."

I absently sipped at my coke. Something seemed really off about Dad right now. I was sad that my psychic feelings died out an hour or so ago. It would have been real useful to know what was up with Dad.

"I figure by nightfall the iron rounds would work on the sucker." Dad held his beer bottle up, inviting us to do cheers.

Going with it, the three of us clanked our bottles and glasses together. "Sweet," Uncle Dean said before we drank. Although, I noticed how Dad didn't take a drink. Instead, he snickered as he watched Uncle Dean.

This cannot be good.

Uncle Dean set his beer bottle down, but he could let go of it. He turned it over sideways, but the bottle seemed to be glued to his hand. By now, Dad was full on laughing and I couldn't help but chuckle.

"You didn't," Uncle Dean muttered.

"Oh," Dad said, gleefully holding up a tube of super glue, "I did." For an even more of an effect, Dad pulled on the chain so that the sailor would start cackling.

"That, my friend, is definitely a nine," I announced, watching Uncle Dean struggle.

"What, hell no. That is not a nine."

"Hey, it's as annoying as itching powder, but a bit more original. I'm sorry, but I'm giving Dad a nine."

"Which, added from the scores previous, means we are tied twelve-twelve."

"Oh, it is so fucking on now," Uncle Dean said, still trying to get the beer bottle off him.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

We used that annoying ass sailor that we "borrowed" from the bar to distract the police officers so that we could sneak into the house. The only reason why I was even tagging along was to keep lookout. I had to make sure no police officers—or Ed and Harry—stumbled across us when we are trying to kill Mordechai.

Dad and Uncle Dean walk towards the back of the house and I look out at the yard. That's when I noticed Ed and Harry making their way up towards the house.

"Shit," I muttered. Before I could even react, I was sent tumbling to the ground. The back of my head felt like someone just hit me over the head with a frying pan. Ignoring the pain, I slowly sit up to see no one standing there.

"Holy crap, please tell me you got that on camera," Ed said, sounding like a nine year old in a candy store. Before Harry could answer, Ed pushed him forward. "C'mon, he's probably in a different part of the house by now." The two of them went farther inside the house, leaving me on the floor.

"Yeah, thanks for nothing douchebags," I cried, slowly standing up. I felt the back of my head, relieved that there was no blood but I was going to have one hell of a bump.

I slowly stood up, feeling dizzy and nauseous from the movement. I really hoped I didn't have a concussion thanks to that Mordechai character. If I did, someone was going to die.

By the time I made it to the room that the four of them were located, Mordechai came bursting through the door with an axe in hand. I really must have lucked out if that's what he used to clock me with.

Without hesitation, Dad and Uncle Dean began firing at Mordechai. Every bullet created a hole, almost as if they were firing at smoke. Soon, Mordechai just disappeared all together.

"Okay…shouldn't there be a body?" I asked.

Already realizing what happened, Dad and Uncle Dean starting roaming around the room, looking for any signs of Mordechai. Ed and Harry were freaking out over their video camera, worried that they didn't catch anything.

Mordechai suddenly appeared and, using his axe, hacked the camera right from Harry's grip. The camera was now a mess of broken plastic and loose wires. Before I could even point my gun in Mordechai's direction, he disappeared again.

"Hey," Uncle Dean called, "didn't you post that BS story we told you?"

"Of course we did," Ed said.

"But our server crashed," Harry added.

"So, it didn't take?" Uncle Dean asked. When only unintelligible noises coming from the pair of them were his answer, Uncle Dean added, "So these guns are useless."

"Yeah."

Uncle Dean's face was a mixture of emotions, almost as if he didn't know if he should laugh or punch those morons into oblivion. "Great," Uncle Dean muttered. "Sam, Liz, any ideas?"

I could barely remember what my name was, let alone think of a way to stop Mordechai now that we didn't have a sure-fire way to kill him. Even Dad looked stumped, but he was probably still trying to figure out a way we can pull a victory out of our asses.

Not even waiting to see if we had a plan, Ed and Harry ran for it. Well, Harry started running for it. He had to head back to drag Ed with him.

Before we could formulate any sort of plan, we heard Harry and Ed cry out from the other side of the house. "Look," Uncle Dean cried, "I have an idea. Sam, just go save those ass hats. Liz and I can handle things."

Dad didn't question it. He ran towards the sounds of Ed's and Harry's girlish screams. Uncle Dean was running towards the kitchen. It took me a couple of seconds to realize what was going on and followed after Dad. No, wait, I was helping Uncle Dean.

"Are you okay?" he asked, handing me some lighter fluid that magically appeared from nowhere.

I took the canister from him. "Yeah, super-de-duper."

"You are completely concussed," he said, beginning to pour the lighter fluid around the kitchen. "You try hitting it up over there. We'll deal with your head later."

I stumbled across the other side of the room and began pouring lighter fluid. "Hey, spread it out. Don't make it so concentrated." That's when I realized I was just pouring it on one spot. I began to move around, my movements uncoordinated.

"DEAN!" I heard Dad cry, sounding almost as if he was choking.

"Okay, you, get to the Impala. I got things from here."

Even with knowing Dad needed help, I ran out of the house. It felt like I was zigzagging across the field. I probably was. To some onlooker, I would probably look like I was drunk.

I stumbled twice on my way to the woods. It was the third time when I decided I would just stay down. There was a part of me that just said screw this and refused to move any further.

I felt someone scoop me up and carry me out to the woods. My mind was foggy, but I was pretty sure that it was Dad who was carrying me.

"That's your solution? Burn the whole damn place to the ground?" I heard Dad talking, but it sounded like he was miles away.

"Well, no one will go in anymore," Uncle Dean argued. "Look, Mordechai can't leave the house. How can he haunt something that isn't there? It's fast and dirty, but it works."

"But, what if the legend changes and Mordechai can leave the house—then what?"

"Well, we'll just have to come back. But, right now, don't you think we have some bigger fish to fry?"

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

There are two things that Winchester's sleep off: hangovers and concussions. Throughout most of the next day, I slept like a baby. No mind-rape, no freaky dreams just completely uninterrupted sleep.

At least, until I woke up with a headache to beat the band.

"Hey, c'mon," Uncle Dean said, after handing me two Advil and a bottle of water. "We should be heading out. But, there is a stop we need to make."

"Yeah, I've got a stop I need to make too," Dad said, slamming the trunk of the Impala shut.

"Where?"

"Ed and Harry's place."

Uncle Dean grinned. "Heh, same here."

By the time we got to the trailer park, the Advil kicked in and most of my headache went away.

When we got there, Harry and Ed had all their stuff packed up and their trailer hooked up to their car. This seemed to really please Dad and Uncle Dean. I just sat there confused. What was this about?

We sat down at a picnic table to wait for them. It was only a few minutes before we heard them talking loudly about having the munchies and were carrying two grocery bags.

"Gentlemen," Ed greeted, seeming to be in a jolly mood. Realizing I was there, he added a quick, "Lady."

They continued walking towards their car and we sauntered after them. "Should we tell them?" Harry asked Ed.

"Eh, might as well," Ed answered. "They'll hear all about it in The Trades."

"This morning we got a call from a very important Hollywood producer—"

"Yeah, wrong number?" Uncle Dean asked.

"No, smartass," Ed said, "he read all about the hell house on our website and wants to option the motion picture rights….Maybe even have us write it."

Somehow, I just _knew_ there was something wrong with that whole thing. No way would a credited Hollywood producer want to deal with these two crazy people.

"And create the RPG," Harry added, as if that was vital information that couldn't be withheld.

"Uh-huh…what's a RPG?" Uncle Dean asked.

"Roll playing game," I answered before I could stop myself.

"Well, good to know that mystery girl here is up-to-date with the lingo," Ed added. I felt like punching him. "Anyway, ah…excuse us, we are off to La-La Land."

"Well, congratulations guys, that sounds really great," Dad said, almost sounding genuine—_almost_.

"Yeah, best of luck to yah," Uncle Dean added. Okay, it seemed like they were laying it on thick again—way too thick.

"Yeah, thanks. But luck has nothing to do with it. It's all about pure, unabashed talent." When the three of us didn't say anything (although I had a million sarcastic comments I could have said), Ed gave us a peace sign and said, "Well, we better get going."

They started up the car that almost didn't want to start. "See yah later fellas," Ed added before they drove past us.

Once they were out of earshot, the three of us start laughing. "Wow," I said, shaking my head.

"I have a confession to make," Dad said.

"What's that?"

"Uh…I was the one who called them and told them that I was the producer."

I couldn't help myself. I began another fit of laughter. This was just too great.

"Yeah, well, I'm the one who put the dead fish in their backseat," Uncle Dean added.

We were just outside the Impala when Dad asked, "Truce?"

Uncle Dean nodded. "Truce…for the next hundred miles."

"Okay, fine, but I'll keep your scores for next time," I said. "It's still twelve-twelve."

"Sounds good to me," Dad said.

The three of us climbed into the Impala and Uncle Dean started the engine. "So, Liz, how the hell did you know what a RPG was?"

"Uh…I plead the fifth."

"Of course you do," Uncle Dean said, turning up the radio and hitting the road.


	20. Target

_Author's Note: I'm not going to lie, I am not in love with this chapter. It was hard to write and this is probably the best draft I could come up with. I'm sorry for the long wait and now you know why._

_Author's Note 2: I really, really need to thank _**Indigo Nights **_for noticing how I put "topa" when it's supposed to be "tulpa" on my last chapter. I owe her a large platter of my (almost) world famous cupcakes for catching that!_

**Chapter 20 - Target**

The moment we got within the city limits of Lynchburg, Wisconsin, my Spidey-senses were tingling. John sent us here and Dad was whole-heartedly convinced that this is just a wild goose chase.

"Hey Liz, do you see something wrong with this picture?" Dad asked me. Uncle Dean went to a coffee shop and Dad and I stood around the Impala needing to stretch our legs. Dad was looking at a park with very few kids at it.

"Um…you look like a pedophile the way you are watching those kids," I answered, knowing fully well that was not what he was asking

"Liz…it's four-ten in the afternoon. Now, I know I haven't done it in a few years, but remember when I used to take you down to the park? Remember how it used to be so crowded that there were lines for the slide and stuff?

"Yeah…sure," I lied. In reality, I didn't remember any of this. Dad hasn't taken me to the park since I was four.

"So, now do you see the problem?

"What problem?" Uncle Dean asked, suddenly appearing out of nowhere with three coffees in hand.

"There're hardly any kids at the park," Dad reiterated, accepting the coffee from Uncle Dean.

"Okay, pedo, what gives?"

"Seriously?" Dad shook his head. "Liz just called me that. You are a terrible influence on my daughter."

Uncle Dean and I just smiled sheepishly at Dad.

"Well, finding out that you are a pedophile—" cue bitch-face number 23— "is the most interesting thing I have found out in this town. The hot waitress—whose number I got, by the way—said that, other than the local free masons acting suspicious, nothing out of the ordinary has happened."

"This may be a long shot, but maybe something is up with the kids."

"Or the parents," I suggested. "I know I've met a lot of crazy parents in my lifetime."

"Oh yeah, remember Mrs. Hassley who was head of the P.T.O.?"

"Wasn't she the one who had a major crush on you and made sure you volunteered for stuff while she was volunteering?"

"Yeah, and then Jess realized what was going on and flipped out at her."

"That was when I finally learned what a bitch was—well, the American version, anyway."

"That word was tossed around a lot along with slut, whore, and a bunch of other names."

"Well, while you two go skipping down memory lane, I'm going to go do what Dad sent us here to do: find and kill a son of a bitch."

Uncle Dean sauntered off towards the park, leaving Dad and I by the Impala, confused about Uncle Dean's sudden change in demeanor.

I took a sip of coffee. "What was that all about?" I asked.

Dad shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

The two of us fell into an awkward silence. We sipped at our coffees absentmindedly as we watched Uncle Dean conversed with one of the only parents at the park.

"Do you think he's jealous?" I asked, looking down at my cup of coffee. I could sense Dad giving me a confused look, so I elaborated. "I think Uncle Dean is jealous you had a normal life even if it was only for a few years."

I slowly built up the courage to look at Dad. His face was impassive as he contemplated my words. "Maybe…I dunno…he acts like he doesn't want a normal life…but I think, deep down, he does."

Uncle Dean walked up to us. He sighed deeply before he said, "Well, it might be nothing, but there are a bunch of kids sick—sick enough that they're in the hospital right now."

"Do you think it might be something?" Dad asked. I immediately recognized the tone that he rarely used. It's hard to decipher and even harder to describe. It's a combination of worry, anger and a couple other unrecognizable emotions. I've only heard it a few other times like when pink eye was going around my kindergarten class or when I come down with a bad bout of the flu.

He was now worried about my health.

"Let's head up to the hospital," Uncle Dean suggested. "It's the only lead we've got."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

By now, I know that on most jobs I am supposed to stay in the Impala or in the motel room and work on schoolwork or something. It's second nature to just stay put and stay out of the way. This is why I was very annoyed when Dad drilled me about staying in the Impala while he and Uncle Dean went to the hospital. But, I humored him by acting like a good daughter and said all the right things in the right tone to help calm him down.

I never understood why he always fretted over my health. I could get a concussion or screw up my ankle and he more or less says rub some dirt on it. But, like I said, I just take his antics in stride. I know he means well, no matter how suffocating it gets at times.

Thanks to the coffee, there is no way I can fall asleep and mind-rape either Dad or Uncle Dean. I'll just have to get information the old fashioned way: asking questions.

Ugh, it sounds like work.

Three or so chapters of Anthem later, I see Dad and Uncle Dean approach the Impala. I hear them talking, but I can't understand a word they are saying until they are right next to the muscle car.

"Okay, we'll go stake out the place, but there's a stop we need to make." Dad seemed really, _really_ scared now. He kept glancing at me as if this moment would end up being my last.

"Where would you need to stop?" Uncle Dean asked, circling around the Impala to the driver's side.

"At a motel," Dad said. "We should drop Liz off before we continue."

Uncle Dean gave Dad a confused expression. "I think she'll be fine in the Impala," he said, talking slowly as if he was choosing his words wisely. "Hell, she could come in and help investigate. It'll be a good learning experience."

Dad did not look at all pleased with the suggestion. "We're dropping Liz off at the motel and that. Is. Final!"

Dad opened the passenger door and was about to climb in, but Uncle Dean motioned for him to stop. "Do you wanna explain why you've been acting so weird since you found out that pneumonia was spreading around this town like the plague?"

"Do you wanna explain why you've been acting weird since Liz and I talked about Jess and that crazy mother?"

Uncle Dean didn't reply and the two of them climbed into the Impala. I pretended to read my book, as if I didn't hear the previous conversation.

My psychic abilities may suck most of the time, but it is times like this where I wish that I can control them.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The drive to the motel—despite its short distance—was long and foreboding. Uncle Dean drove with white knuckles and stared out the front window. I held the book up and pretended to read, but I couldn't focus and I was scared to turn the page in fear that it would make too much noise.

Even when we got to the motel, the awkwardness continued. Uncle Dean mumbled something about getting a room and climbed out of the Impala. He left Dad and me to our own demises—which meant more awkward silence that seemed to grow with every heart beat.

With nothing else to do, I watched Uncle Dean talk with the kid behind the counter. He couldn't have been much older than me and he was pretty cute in my opinion. Not that I was interested or anything, just stating facts.

A lady came up and talked with the kid. She took over with Uncle Dean's transaction. I couldn't see much, but, from what I could tell, the kid who was behind the counter was pouring a glass of milk for who must have been his little brother.

Uncle Dean eventually came back, looking as sullen as ever. He announced the room number and we grabbed out things and headed to Room 19. Not even five minutes later, Dad and Uncle Dean left and, for once, I was like those green alien men from _Toy Story_: eternally grateful.

I occupied myself with schoolwork. Ever since Dad and I had that huge fight a few months back, I've been trying extra hard with my studies. I am currently maintaining an A or an A-minus in all my classes except for math since it wasn't really my forte. Well, pointless math, anyway.

It took forever for Dad and Uncle Dean to get back. Their normal, hard-ass demeanor when they are on a hunt and don't have to deal with people they know was gone. They both looked shaken and…scared, maybe.

Dad and Uncle Dean dove right into research-mode. Surprisingly, they didn't ask me to help. Normally, I would be relieved that I didn't have to do research, but it just felt odd. If I knew what to look up, I would voluntarily help, for once. Of course, I was completely out of the loop.

"Well, you were right," Dad said, an hour or so later. "It wasn't very easy to find. But, you're right. A shtriga is a kind of witch—Albanian, but legends date back to ancient Rome. They feed off of _spiritus vitae_."

"Spirit…what?" Uncle Dean asked, in obvious need to brush up on his Latin. Of course, I'm not one to speak. But, in my defense, I have only been learning it for a few months. Uncle Dean practically had a lifetime.

"_Vitae_," Dad repeated. "It translates to 'breath of life'. Your life force or essence."

"Doctor said that the kids' bodies were warring out," Uncle Dean noted.

"Well, it makes sense. You lose your vitality, your immunity goes to hell and pneumonia takes hold. Anyway, shtriga's can take it from anyone, but they prefer—" Dad's mood rapidly deflated as he stared at the screen.

"Children," Uncle Dean offered.

I finally understood what was going on. Dad was worried I'd get the life sucked out of me by this shtriga character and, for all intents and purposes, die.

"Yeah," Dad said, "but, listen to this, shtriga are invulnerable to weapons made by God and man."

"So, use kryptonite," I suggested. Neither of them acknowledged that I said anything and, one has to admit that was a great solution…if, you know, kryptonite actually existed outside of the _Superman_ movies, comic books and various television series.

"No, that's not right," Uncle Dean said. "She's vulnerable when she feeds."

Dad gave Uncle Dean a confused look. "What?"

"If you catch her when she's eating, you can blast her with concentrated raw irons—buck shots of rounds, I think."

"How do you know that?" Dad asked him.

Uncle Dean shrugged. "Dad told me. I remember."

"Oh," Dad sneered. He gave a humorless chuckled. "Anything else Dad might've mentioned?" If I had to guess, I think Dad was actually jealous of Uncle Dean for knowing that.

Or maybe my psychic abilities are flaring up—I have no idea.

"Nope, that's it." Uncle Dean seemed detached, like he didn't notice Dad's animosity. Well, maybe that wasn't completely true since, moments later, Uncle Dean asked, "What?"

Dad simply shook his head. "Nothing."

It was totally something. I didn't need any psychic abilities to know that.

"Okay…so, assuming we can kill it when it eats, we still need to find the thing first which ain't gonna be a cake walk. Shtrigas take on a disguise when they are not hunting."

"A human disguise?" Uncle Dean asked.

"Historically, it's been something innocuous. But, they typically take the form of an old woman which is probably where the witches are old crones got started."

Uncle Dean abruptly stood up from leaning against the counter and grabbed a map from the table where they had all their researched lay out on. I considered going to look for myself, but decided against it. At this moment, I am most likely invisible to them.

"See here, I marked down where all the attacks have been located," Uncle Dean pointed around the map randomly. "In the center of all the activity is—"

"—the hospital."

"Right," Uncle Dean approved. "When we were there, I saw a patient—an old woman."

Dad considered Uncle Dean's words. "An old woman?"

"Yep."

"In a hospital?"

Uncle Dean just gave Dad a look.

"Oof, we better call the Coast Guard on this one," Dad said. Well, now I know that he's the only one who can make jokes around here.

"Well, listen, smartass. She had an inverted cross hanging on her wall."

In record time, they were loaded and ready for action.

"Stay here," Dad ordered, tucking a pistol into the waistband of his jeans.

"I know, Dad," I said. "Don't let anyone in the room and don't leave unless it's a life or death situation. If I do have to leave, call you and go to the nearest 24-hour gas station and wait for you there."

Dad readjusted his jacket and looked down at me. "Just…be careful. And keep your cell phone and gun close to you at all times. If I call or text, you better answer."

Uncle Dean stood awkwardly by the door, impatiently watching Sam. He probably understood why Dad was like this.

"Can we go now, Sam, before that bitch decides to leech the life outta another kid?"

Or, maybe he didn't.

Dad looked like he wanted to say something more,

I had no clue when I fell asleep. One moment, I was reading my book and the next I was just passed out. It must have been a blue moon because I started out in a dreamless state. But, then, the black turned into the hospital parking lot.

"Yeah, let me know if there is any changes to the kids' condition," a doctor said, speaking into a phone. His eyes darted back and forth as he walked, as if he didn't trust his surroundings. "Okay, thank you Jackie."

When he ended the phone call, he gave a wicked smile. "As if those kids' conditions'll ever change."

I instantly felt panic. Was this man actually the shtriga and not the old woman like Uncle Dean thought? If only I could control this and get wake up to warn them. That doctor needed to be stopped.

I watched in horror as the man transformed in the nearby woods. He contorted into unnatural angles that looked awfully painful. But, instead of crying out in pain, he was laughing. He was gleeful that he was about to have himself a feast.

It made me sick just thinking about it.

In a matter of moments, the doctor transformed into the shadowy figure of a shtriga. It glided through the woods at an unnatural speed. Then again, there was nothing natural about this creature.

Eventually, a building loomed into view. It took me a few moments to recognize the nondescript sign and building as the motel I was currently sleeping in.

Oh god, what if the shtriga is coming for me?

The shtriga floated towards the window. It used its powers to open the window without physically touching it. It crawled into the room. I was slightly relieved that the shtriga wasn't entering my room, but then I realized its intended target and wished that it would go after me instead since the shtriga went right for the owner's youngest son.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I violently woke. I jerked up and clutched my erratic heart. It took a few moments for my head to clear and, when it did, I reached for my phone and called Dad.

He answered on the first right. "Liz, what's wrong."

"Shtriga—not—lady—doctor—transformed—kid—attacked—motel—owner—dunno—to do." My words came out in an unintelligible phrase, but I think—well, more like hope—Dad understood.

"Wait, the shtriga attacked one of the motel's owner's kids and you saw it happen?"

"Yes," I said, practically crying into the phone.

"Okay, Dean and I are on our way back. Just stay at the motel. It's probably already done with and there is no way I am going to let you get in the line of fire."

Despite my disagreement, I told Dad that I would and hung up. It killed me insides to just sit on the bed with my knees drawn to my chest and let that kid suffer, but I doubt my legs would work even if I did decide to disobey Dad's orders.

It could have been hours or it could have been days before Dad and Uncle Dean showed up, looked haggard and wayward.

Uncle Dean collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs before saying, "You were right."

Those were the last three words I wanted to hear.

Dad sat down on the bed next to me. "It's okay, Liz. We have a plan to stop the shtriga."

"But…it's only vulnerable when it's feeding…that means…"

They didn't verbally confirm my suspicions. They didn't need to tell me that they planned on using the oldest kid as bait.

"We don't like it," Uncle Dean said, "but it's our only option and…we think it might actually make the kids, you know, wake up."

"Do you think?"

"That's just it, it's just a theory."

"Look, why don't you go take a shower," Dad suggested. "It might help you calm down a bit."

I nodded. With shaky legs, I walked into the bathroom. I closed the door and leaned against it for support. There was no other word for it—I felt like shit.

I stepped into the shower and blasted the water as hot as it would go. It was scalding. I just stood underneath it for who knows how long. Eventually it turned cold and I turned it off. I'm pretty sure that Dad and Uncle Dean hadn't planned on taking a shower for a while, but I still felt guilty about it. Or, maybe I was still guilty about being unable to stop the shtriga from more or less killing that innocent boy.

Wrapping a towel around myself, I heard a gentle knock on the door. "Liz, we're going to talk with Michael—" I'm guessing that's the older kid's name. "—did you want to come with us?"

"No."

Normally, I would. I just don't think I can handle it right now. I shouldn't be like this. I've handled watching a shape shifter in the form of me being killed, I watched a woman die practically by her own hand, I watched a man kill himself by telepathically using a gun and I've come close to death numerous times.

But, watching that kid get his spirit sucked from him; that was worse—much, much worse.

I heard the door slam shut and I knew I was alone. Somehow, that made things a million times worse.

I took my time getting dressed. I tried reading, but my mind wandered back to the vision that I had so I couldn't concentrate on it. Not even the screwed up Ayn Rand novel could free me from my guilt.

Sometime later, Dad and Uncle Dean came back. I didn't ask them what the kid decided to do—they told me anyway. It took some persuasion, but the kid eventually said yes—for his brother and possibly the fact that, either way, he was screwed.

"We're going to set up cameras to keep an eye on him," Dad explained, probably just to fill the void of silence. "We'll shoot the son of a bitch before it kills him."

The only thing I truly hoped that all the other children will recover from this. I dunno what I'd do if Michael's brother didn't come back from the hospital.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

That night, the armed and dangerous Dad and Uncle Dean went to set up and prepare to kill the shtriga. I was ordered to stay in the room. I was glad they didn't even suggest that I should go—I would refuse anyway.

I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned, unable to free my mind of this hunt. I just laid in the bed, not even bothering to read or listen to music or anything. I just laid there drowning in my own guilt.

Eventually, I drifted off. However, it was that awkward place between wake and slumber. One moment, I was awake but barely alert and the next I was completely surround in darkness.

But the scraping sound of the opening window sent panic through my spine. I sat up, in search of the assailant. I stiffened when I saw the shtriga come towards me, it's huge, ugly mouth wide open.

To my indiscretion, I screamed loudly. I scrambled to reach the gun that was on my bedside table, but it was useless. The shtriga, practically on top of me, shoved me down further into the bed, it's clammy hands keeping a firm hold on chest.

It leaned down, it's face inches from mine. It sucked in and I felt an icy chill course through my body. The pain was unbearable, but I was unable to cry out for help. Instead, I fell into a void of beautiful and glorious nothing.


	21. Plagued

_Author's Note: Okay, this chapter might be a little confusing so I'll explain. The words in italics is happening in Liz's mind from her point-of-view and the normal font is in the present in general point-of-view between Sam and Dean. __Please let me know if it is too confusing to follow._

**Chapter 21 - Plagued**

I _was shocked awake. I looked about the room, trying to find the source of my alarm. What I expected to see was a dingy motel room with my dad trying to wake me up so we could hit the road. I did not expect to be seated at a desk in a stereotypical middle school classroom surrounded by students who were staring at me like I was some sort of circus freak._

"_Glad you decided to join us, Miss Winchester," my crazy English teacher, Ms. Fairey, called. She was the typical hippy type with long, untamed hair and handmade-style clothing. She was feared and hated by all, especially those who had opposite opinions than she had._

_But, the biggest issue was how in the hell I ended up here._

_I sat in the rest of class just looking around. Eventually, everyone moved on about me, apparently, being asleep in my seat and decided to pay attention to Ms. Fairey or completely ignore her by doodling or texting friends._

_I looked towards Lily, who sat towards the front of the room, in hopes that she would have some sort of explanation on why I was suddenly back at Palo Alto West Middle School. She, of course, didn't even give any indication that I was there. When she was in study-mode, the rest of the world didn't exist._

_When the bell finally rang (or, I should say when Ms. Fairey finally decided to dismiss us since she was a bitch that way), I immediately ran towards Lily as she headed towards her locker._

_Before I could even say a word, she started nagging me. "Seriously, Liz? Falling asleep? I'm surprised, even I thought Ms. Fairey's explanation on Edgar Allen Poe's poems was boring, if not extremely incorrect. But at least have the decency to make it look like you're awake. You snore louder than a hibernating bear!"_

_There goes Lily and her infamous rants. I love her to death, but geez that girl can talk someone's ears off._

"_Okay Lily, enough with the charade. What the hell is going on?"_

_Lily cringed at my vulgar language even though ninety-percent of the seventh grades think it is cool to swear now. It made us feel more adult. Of course, with hanging around Dad and Uncle Dean twenty-four/seven, saying "hell" could barely constitute as swearing anymore._

"_I don't know what you are talking about," she said, plainly. "All I know is that you have been way off since…never mind."_

"_What?" I demanded. "I've been off since when?"_

"_Look, I keep telling you to talk with the school councilor about it, but you just don't listen to me. I get that you are losing sleep over it. But, if you won't talk to me or your mother about this, at least talk with Mr. Wacker."_

"_Whoa, whoa wait…my mom's alive."_

_Lily gave me a confused look. "As far as I know."_

_The warning bell rang and Lily began to look frantically around. "Look, I don't want to be late for science. Will you please talk with Mr. Wacker even if it means missing gym?"_

_Without even waiting for me to reply, Lily walks away towards Mrs. Impellizzeri's classroom. I watched her leave, with more questions floating around in my mind than ever._

_Ignoring the late bell, I walked to my locker (at least, what I hoped was my locker) and opened it. Sure enough, my colorful messenger bag was tucked inside, as was my precarious pile of books, old papers and overall useless crap. I pulled out my cell phone from the side pocket and went through the contacts until I found Dad's cell phone._

_Almost immediately after pressing it to my ear, the annoying chime rang through followed by the automated voice announcing that the number I had dialed is no longer in service. I slammed my phone shut. Why would Dad's cell phone be out of service? Unless he had changed the number and forgot to tell me. That's happened numerous times._

"_Liz Winchester," the annoying voice of Ryan Forfinski called out. I inwardly groaned. Ryan was infamous at school for being the dumbass hall monitor. Thanks to some sort of physical disorder that I didn't care to find out, he got out of taking gym. Instead, he became hall monitor for fourth period. He had eyes like a hawk and hearing like a wolf. He could sense a skipper from miles away._

"_Do you have permission to be out in the hallway?"_

"_This is so not the day to be messing with me, Forfucker (his nickname given by one of the many class clowns in this school). I have no clue what the hell is going on. One moment, I am attacked by a freaking shtriga and the next I have Ms. Fairey nagging me for falling asleep in her class."_

_Ryan just blinked at me, trying to process the information I just spewed at him. "Well, I have no clue what a shtriga is and whatever is going on in your messed up personal life is no matter to me." He pulled out his notepad of terror and wrote something down. "Now, I'm pretty sure you are skipping gym again, so I suggest you give this to Mr. Douglas and pray that he'll give mercy on his soul." He tore off the piece of paper and handed it to me._

_I looked down at the pink slip and looked up at him. As if it was muscle memory, I crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it at his feet. "I hope you rot in Hell." Before he could utter another word, I stomped away from him and headed towards the gym, trying to figure out what was going on._

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Sam was pissed, to say the least.

It was now dawn and the shtriga never showed up to take Michael. Don't get him wrong, he was thankful that Michael is safe. But, that also means that he and Dean have no clue where that thing is.

"Okay, I'll head down to the hospital," Dean decided, fiddling with the lock to the motel room door. "Maybe the shtriga was onto us and decided to break the pattern and take some other kid's soul or whatever."

Sam didn't like that theory, but it was possible. The shtriga could be one step ahead of them.

"Let's just get some coffee in us first," Dean said. "I doubt I can keep up with this no-sleep shit I'm dealing with."

"Quiet, Dean," Sam sneered. "Liz is probably still asleep."

Sure enough, Liz was curled up on her bed, her back to them. Something felt off about her though. Sam just shrugged it off as lack of sleep.

Wordlessly, Dean headed into the bathroom. Sam went into the little kitchenette to make coffee. He was filling up the pot with water when he felt a sudden chill in the air. I looked up to see the window wide open.

"No!" Sam breathed, racing towards Liz. He dropped the nearly full pot of water in the process. But that didn't matter.

He shook her shoulder. "Liz! Wake up!" When she didn't respond, Sam adjusted her arms so that he could see her face. She looked pale and sickly with dark circles under her eyes. Sam just stood there in horror, not wanting to look at his daughter like this but unable to look away at the same time.

"Sammy, what's going on?" Dean walked out of the bathroom and headed towards his brother. He stopped halfway there, nonverbally getting his answer.

They stood there in silence, Sam looking at Liz and Dean looking at Sam. Liz just remained still, eyes closed and body practically lifeless.

"The shtriga must've thought…" Dean was lost for words. The statement didn't need to be finished. Liz was proof that the shtriga must have thought that Liz was Michael's and his little brother's sister.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

_Gym used to be hell for me. I wasn't the type to actually care about athletics and keeping fit. However, the hunter training Dad and Uncle Dean have put me through has changed me though. I went from the weak, little girl to an unstoppable force in dodge ball…even with the twenty extra push-ups I had to do for being late._

_I still had no idea why I was here, but for a few glorious moments I forgot what was going on and just had fun like a normal teenager should._

_Of course, I think I went a little overboard with the game. I had a wicked arm and head-on aim. People started to notice that I went from being the girl how dodged more than attacked to wonder woman. _

"_Who the hell are you and what have you done with Liz Winchester?" Katy Spoor had the guts to ask me._

_I just shrugged my shoulders and said, "I dunno."_

_After gym was lunch. I decided to spend the half-hour I got in trying to get Lily to spill what was, apparently, plaguing me._

"_Look, what is going on Lily?" I asked her, sitting down across from her. I didn't bother getting a lunch. I wasn't all that hungry anyway._

_Lily looked up at me, her sandwich halfway to her mouth. "Uh…is this supposed to be a rhetorical question?"_

"_Look, would you believe me if I said that I am suddenly in an alternative universe and I had just came back from one where I knew that monsters and demons and such existed?"_

_Lily slowly put down her sandwich. "Okay, so I did a bit of research and this wild imagination of yours is normal. You're trying to create a perfect world in your head that doesn't have problems that you have to deal with."_

"_God, you make absolutely no sense, Lil. I am not joking: I'm not supposed to be here. I am supposed to be in the back of my uncle's 1967 Chevy Impala with my dad and Uncle Dean to God knows where to fight some baddy and save the world or whatever."_

"_I think you have been watching way too many horror movies," Lily said. "And I didn't know you had an uncle. I thought your parents are only children."_

"_No, my dad has a brother who he hasn't talked to in many, _many_ years. You've met him, in fact. In St. Louis. Your uncle was framed for murder and we proved that it was a shape shifter who posed as your uncle."_

_Lily looked at me with horror in her eyes. "How did you know that my uncle is being charged for murder? I never told you that."_

_Oh, whoops. I guess I'm not supposed to know that._

"_Look, that proves you have to believe me," I said. "I truly have no idea what is going on in this universe."_

"_Earth to Liz Winchester: this is the only universe. I get that your dad running off has messed with your head, but this is a little extreme—even for you."_

_My heart figuratively stopped beating._

_Dad…_

_Running off…_

_I abruptly stood up, my mind swirling as it attempted to figure out what was going on. I was now desperate enough for answers that I decided to do something that the old Liz would never have the guts to do._

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The overall feel of the motel room was chilling. Sam sat by Liz's bed, holding her hand in a comforting manor. He considered taking Liz to the hospital, but didn't she say in her hysteria that a doctor who worked at the hospital was the shtriga. There was no way he was going to send her there.

Sam was, fortunately, alone. Dean went to handle the case without him. Sam was a wreck and, even though what Dean was doing was strictly information seeking, Sam would probably find some way to get the both killed.

"I'm so sorry, Liz," Sam muttered for the umpteenth time. He knew that Liz probably couldn't hear him, but that hasn't stopped him from apologizing profusely to his comatose daughter. "I should have known that the shtriga might have gone after you. I was careless and stupid."

"Correction: _we_ were careless and stupid."

Sam looked up to see Dean entering the motel room. He didn't waste his time looking at his older brother and almost immediately averted his eyes back to Liz, as if he was afraid that she would just disappear if he didn't watch her closely.

"I talked with Michael," Dean said. "He doesn't like the idea of having to do it again, but he's willing to still do it."

Sam nodded.

"I also checked on what sort of treatments they are giving the patients. At this point, they are focused on keeping them alive as long as possible by giving them nutrient solutions."

Sam wanted to tell Dean to shut the hell up. He didn't want to hear how there probably was nothing else they could do for his daughter until they gank that goddamn shtriga.

"But, the big question is how are _you _doing?"

"I'm fine," Sam lied. Trust was, he was miserable beyond compare.

"That's bullshit, Sam," Dean remarked. He pulled a chair from the table and placed it next to Sam's. "Your daughter is in a coma!"

"What the hell do you expect me to do?" Sam demanded. "Do you want to have a chick-flick moment and have me talk about my feelings?"

"Hey, look, I'm just trying to help."

"How about you just go fuck off or something?"

Dean remained silent, trying to figure out a different approach to things. "You're blaming yourself for this, aren't you?"

Sam's jaw tightened at the thought. "We were careless. We should have known—"

"How do you expect us to know that the shtriga would go after Liz instead of Michael?" Dean asked him. "That thing goes after siblings. We never considered how it might think that the three of them were siblings."

"That's just it: we should have."

Dean sighed. After knowing his baby brother his entire life, he should know that Sam was as stubborn as a mule. "But, Sam, your worries started way before this. Practically when you found out that a lot of kids were being diagnosed with pneumonia."

"I was worried about my daughter's health. I guess that's a crime nowadays."

"Sam," Dean warned. "You were a little _too_ worried about it. Liz is healthy. The actual chances of her catching it then were slim to none."

Sam sighed deeply. "I guess my fear of her getting sick started when she was first born."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked.

"The doctors…the doctors said that something was wrong and whisked Liz away before Jess or I could hold her." He remembered the memory like it was yesterday—he felt the pain like it was yesterday. "The nursed spewed off about something to do with weak lungs and cardiac arrhythmia and how it was strange that they didn't detect any of this before she was born."

"Those hours after getting the news were the worst," Sam continued. "Jess was out thanks to the pain killers they gave her, so I was left to freak out by myself. Eventually, the doctor came back with news that Liz'll pull through." Sam chuckled softly. "He said that Liz had a guardian angel watching over her."

"Well, that's good…isn't it?"

Sam nodded. "Liz had some immunity problems after birth, but none of them hospital serious. For a while, the scare was forgotten by Jess and I…at least, until Jess became pregnant again…."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

_If I had known cutting class and sneaking out of the school was so easy, I would have done it before…everything._

_It didn't take long to get to the apartment building that I used to live at. In this reality, it was in one piece and Mom was alive. Whatever happens from here, at least I know I have those two happy thoughts to help me through it._

_I walked up the echoing steps to the apartment. I hesitantly opened the door, scared on what lies beyond it._

_The first thing I noticed was how messy it was. Mom was crazy about keeping a clean home. The carpeting looked like it hadn't seen the vacuum in a few days and miscellaneous items covered every square inch of the dining room table and the coffee table in front of the couch._

_The second thing I noticed was Mom curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her. In only a few words: she looked like crap._

"_Um…hey, Mom," I said, hesitantly._

_She lazily looked up to see me. "Oh, hey Liz. Shouldn't you be in school?"_

_Wow, way to show interest in your daughter cutting class._

"_Half-day," I lied, keeping it short and simple. But, in reality, I was betting on Mom being so out of it at the moment that she wouldn't be paying attention to my schooling schedule._

"_Oh, okay."_

_I hesitated in asking my next question, afraid the answers I'll get and the reaction Mom will get from them. I chose my words wisely and hoped I didn't trigger something bigger than what I intended. "Have you…have you heard from Dad?"_

_Mom shaking her head was the spark that ignited my metaphorical fire._

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"Wait…what?" Dean was lost by Sam's words. "You mean to tell me that Jessica was pregnant _after_ Liz?"

Sam nodded. It killed him to talk about this, but Dean needed to know. This secret has been kept between him and Jess for years. With her death, someone else needed to know.

"It was a boy," Sam said, looking down at his hands. He didn't dare look at Dean or Liz now. He couldn't face Liz's mute expression and Dean's confused one. "We had a name and everything. When he was born, he had all the same problems that Liz had…except he didn't make it."

Silence fell upon the brothers. The minutes ticked by and barely a breath was heard. Dean, unable to take it anymore, was the one to break the silence. "I'm so sorry, Sam."

"It tore Jess and I apart," Sam said. He didn't want to cover this part of it, but his mouth was forming the words before his brain could stop it. "I remember us getting into an argument over something stupid like whose turn it was to make coffee or who got the bathroom first when getting ready in the morning. Not a day went by after that where one of us didn't walk out the door and considered never coming back."

Hearing Sam talk like that pulled at Dean's heart strings. Sam was supposed to live the apple pie life with a white picket fence and three-point-five children. He wasn't supposed to deal with the loss of a child and almost get a divorce with his wife. Dean assumed it was almost, since they were still together when he came in search of Sam's help almost one year ago.

"We eventually moved on," Sam said. "But, for a while there, it didn't look like it would. But Liz was the one who held us together."

"How am I not surprised?"

"She was only four then," Sam said. "Even at a young age, it was just like she _knew_ something was wrong even though she didn't even know the details. Hell, I'm pretty sure she doesn't remember anything of her brother. It's not a subject Jess and I ever brought up."

Dean didn't know how he felt about that. He didn't like the idea of Sam and Jess keeping this huge secret from Liz. But, at the same time, he understood why they did it: to protect her innocence.

"After I came back from one of our arguments, Liz sat Jess and I both down in the living room and said that we shouldn't argue because mommies and daddies are supposed to love each other." Sam gave a faint smile, as if he was amused by the thought. "It was then that Jess and I realized that we still had Liz and we still had each other and that we could move past this."

Dean nodded and watched the setting sun through the window. "It's almost dark out. We should get going."

Sam nodded. He gave Liz's hand one final squeeze before he stood from his chair. "Let's go kill that son of a bitch."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

_I ran into my room, hyperventilating. It was the same as it was supposed to be: piles of clothes separated by cleanliness, old candy wrappers and pop cans strewn everywhere and a large stack of library books that needed to be returned. In many ways, nothing has changed._

_Except Dad…_

_I tried his phone again. I got the out-of-service message again. From memory, I dialed the number Dad gave out to people when he posed as a FBI agent. It rang a few times before going to voicemail. After the automated message finished, I began my rant._

"_Look, I have no clue what the hell is going on, so please tell me there is a damn good excuse why you ran off and broke Mom's heart. This isn't even my own reality. I need to go back to the one where I know about your messed up past even if Mom is dead. I can't…I just can't anymore."_

_I slammed my phone shut. Shutters wracked my body as I tried to calm down. I sounded like an idiot in the message and it probably wasn't smart to mention that I was from a different reality, but how else would I know that number?_

Let go….

_I couldn't place the voice, but I felt like I heard it a million times before this. It was kind and gentle, yet forceful as if this person was trying to get their point across._

Just let go….

"_Who are you?" I asked, reaching for my trusty hairspray that has proved to help me in the past. "Show yourself."_

Let go, Mary….

"_I'm Liz," I said. It was mostly a natural reaction when someone called me by my birth name. "Just tell me what you want."_

I want you to let go and move on….

_Move on. Does that mean..._

"_NO!" I cried. "No, I won't let go. I'll never let go if there is ever a chance that I can get back!"_

"_Liz?"_

_There was a knock on my door that made me jump in fright. It was just Mom. I put down the hairspray and crossed over to the door._

"_Yeah?" I asked, opening the door._

"_Who were you talking to?" Mom asked, looking around my room. "Why were you yelling?"_

_Oh, crap. "Um, I was on my phone. Lily wanted to know if we had an English homework and you know how sometimes she is hard of hearing."_

_Mom just nodded, accepting the lie. "Okay," she said. "Did you want me to make you a grilled cheese or something?"_

_I was taken aback. Mom hasn't made me lunch when Dad wasn't around since I learned how to work the stove. Maybe this was part of alternative reality Mom who wants to make amends since Dad apparently walked out on us. "That'd be great," I said._

_Mom walked over to the kitchen and I closed the door behind her. I looked around my room again, wondering if that voice will come back or not._

_It didn't. I tried calling all of Dad's phones, many of which were out of service and others went right to voicemail. I was about to try Uncle Dean's array of numbers, but Mom called me into the kitchen for lunch._

_Mom had her back to me as she finished up the grilled cheese sandwich. I grabbed a glass from the cupboard, having to go onto my tippy toes to reach it. I didn't realize that I was tackled from the side until I crashed onto the floor._

_It was Mom with her curly blond hair and face, but it looked gruesome, almost as if she was burning. "How could you do this to me?"_

_She had my arms pinned to my side, so escape was impossible. I struggled and struggled, trying to get out of my mother's grasp._

_That is, if it was even my mother._

"_How could you let me die like that?" she demanded, her voice unnaturally low and gravelly. "You were in your room, fast asleep. It took my final moments of pain for you to realize that I was in trouble."_

_That accusation was the equivalent of being stabbed in the heart. Mom blamed me for her death._

"_No…no, I-I didn't know," I pleaded._

_In one fluid motion, Mom had her hand wrapped around my neck. She put all her weight into it, chocking me nearly to death._

Let go….

_I finally recognized the voice. It was my mother's true voice—kind and nurturing._

You don't deserve this Liz, just let go….

_That's when I released the metaphorical bonds that trapped me here and simply let go._


	22. Waiting

_Author's Note: This is the last back-and-forth chapter between the points-of-view...for now, at least. I have more planned in the future, just not in the near future. I hope you enjoyed this change-up on _**Something Wicked **_and I hope to do more like this._

**Chapter XXII - Waiting**

Dean's mind was still reeling from what Sam had just told him as they sat around waiting for the shtriga to show up. He could have had a nephew that lived this life. In many ways, the kid lucked out. But Sam, Jess and Liz paid the price.

"Hey Sam," Dean whispered. There was something that was bugging him that he wanted to clear up. "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

"Something else, smartass," Dean retorted. "You mentioned that you and Jessica had a name picked out for your son. What was it?"

"Well…it was still up in the air. But Jess insisted that we named him Samuel."

Dean was taken aback. "So, he would've been a junior."

"No," Sam shook his head. "We would have had different middle names."

"Oh, and what nickname did you have picked out?"

Sam hesitated and Dean thought it was a bad thing. "Funny thing is…I wanted his middle name to be Dean."

Dean didn't know what to say to that. He was honored that, despite the fact that Dean took John's side in the argument of the century, that his brother loved him enough to have the kid's middle name be Dean.

Sam was about to add to his confession, but on the monitor, a shadowy figure appeared and all thoughts of his late son were pushed aside. "C'mon, we have a monster to gank," Dean said, cocking his gun.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

_I had no clue where I was._

_It was some sort of room with no windows and doors. The walls were covered in ugly wallpaper with an unidentifiable pattern. The room was bare of any furniture and the only feature was a ceiling light with a flickering bulb._

"_Hello, Mary."_

_I sharply turned around to face the newcomer. He had dark hair and dazzling blue eyes. He was dressed in a trench coat with a casual business suit underneath it. But neither of those qualities caught my eye. It was the golden hue that surrounded him, almost like an aura made of solid gold._

"_Who are you?" I asked. I wanted to add how I don't go by Mary, but that didn't seem important right now._

"_That is of no importance right now," he said. "All that is important is that you need to save your family."_

_I was taken aback. "What?"_

"_Your father and uncle, they got the information wrong. Iron rounds will not kill the shtriga, only infuriate it."_

_I was confused. "Then what will kill it?"_

"_Only you can kill it?"_

"_What? Why me?"_

_The man looked at me straight in the eye. "You're special, Mary—"_

"_I prefer Liz," I added, coldly._

_Ignoring my comment, the main continued. "You're more special than you know."_

"_Do you mind explaining why I'm so freaking special?" I asked him._

"_There is no time," the man said, hastily. "You just concentrate on the heart of the beast."_

"_Wait…what?"_

"_Focus on the heart. Just focus on mentally pushing on the heart."_

_I froze, considering the man's words. "I have a feeling there is a catch."_

"_You always assume that there's a catch," the man noted._

"_Is there one?" I asked him._

"_Yes. It will leave you drained and weak. But you really don't have a choice if you want your family to live."_

"_There's just one problem with this," I said, not caring that it will hurt me. "How the hell am I going to get there? I mean, hell-o! I'm kind of comatose here."_

_The man remained expressionless as he said, "Not any longer."_

It was as if a door slammed shut on me. I was sitting up in my bed, panting wildly. I looked around. It was pitch black in the room and the only thing I could see was the bedside clock reading 3:41 AM.

I could only assume that Dad and Uncle Dean were waiting around for the shtriga to go after Michael, or maybe the shtriga was already there. With the thought of Dad and Uncle Dean being in danger, I jumped out of the bed and ran out of the motel room.

The cold hit me like a thousand daggers. I ignored the pain and raced to the main part of the motel. The gravel tore up my feet and a felt them start to burn, but I ignored it like I ignored everything else in the world.

I heard the screams and cries of panic and ran towards the sounds until I reached Michael's room. The kid was pushed up against the headboard, watching the entire scene unfold. Dad was unconscious and was slumped on the floor while Uncle Dean fought on, trying to shoot the thing.

"Why won't this fucking thing die?" Uncle Dean screamed, his finger pulling constantly on the trigger.

I froze, racking my brain on what the man told me to do. _"Focus on the heart. Just focus mentally pushing on the heart."_

How in God's name was I supposed to do that? The shtriga probably didn't even have a heart. How was I supposed to focus on something that isn't there? Thinking that I had nothing to lose, I held my hand out and I thought about the average, human heart. I kept my eyes on the shtriga chest as it attacked Uncle Dean. It was hard to keep focus, but I used all my brain power in doing so.

_Just think of saving Dad…_

I squeezed my hand as if I was trying to choke the air. I kept a steady focus on the shtriga, knowing that it was life or death here.

_Just think of saving Uncle Dean…_

Blood began trickling from my nose. The coppery taste flooded my mouth. The shtriga's movements began to slow and become sluggish. Uncle Dean took this as his own doing and continued to shoot the monster.

"Stop!" I choked out. I was surprised I could even make a sound with how much everything hurt. My insides felt like they were on fire. That I would explode at any minute.

Uncle Dean looked at me, amazement in his eyes. Even though he probably had a million different questions on what was going on, he remained silent. Maybe he saw the concentration and determination in my demeanor and laid off. He must have realized that I was saving his ass.

I was running low on power. Shadows began to creep into my vision and I tried to blink them away. Using up the rest of my reserves, I mentally pushed with all my might towards the shtriga. It released an earth-shattering screamed and went up in flames. As the smoke surrounding me began to clear, I felt myself falling towards the ground I never landed on.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Dean could barely process what was going on.

Liz had just disappeared and she just stood there, her hand raised in attempt to…what? Choke the shtriga to death? But, that is sort of what happened except she never touched the monster.

The shtriga, which seemed to be immune to the bullets, despite the fact that it was feeding off Michael, seemed to just explode. It was almost as if Liz just used her mind to kill it.

Dean looked down at the unconscious Liz and felt something he thought he would never associate with his niece: fear. He was scared of her and the power she suddenly had. It was like finding out about hers and Sam's psychic powers all over again—just worse because Liz could actually _kill_ with hers.

Remembering the kid, Dean walked over to Michael who was quivering in fear. "You okay, kid?" That was a stupid question. Of course the kid was scared out of his ever loving mind. Michael gave no indication that he was going to talk, so Dean helped the shaky-legged kid into the living room. He also did something he thought he'd never do: drug a kid. He persuaded Michael to take some Nyquil so he had at least a greater chance of getting some sleep.

With the kid taken care of, Dean walked back into the room. Sam began to stir. The shtriga shoved him pretty hard against the wall and Sam's head banged against the dresser on the way down. Dean checked for blood. There was none to be found, but there was a pretty good chance that Sam had a concussion.

_Like daughter, like father_, Dean thought, remembering back to their previous job when Liz got a concussion. Her first concussion: one of the many Winchester milestones that normal people don't have to deal with.

Maybe he should get her a photo frame for it or something.

"Hey Sammy," Dean greeted when his brother finally came to. He forced his voice to be cheery, but it fell flat because of all that they have been through the last couple of days: his flashbacks to his first hunting failure, Liz falling under the shtriga's curse and now this. Dean wonders sometimes why he keeps fighting when all this shit just keeps happening to them.

"Dean?" Sam groaned, grabbing his head in pain. "Wh-what's going on?"

"You hit your grapefruit pretty hard there," Dean said, helping his little brother stand up. "And you missed the entire show."

Sam looked around the room, his eyes landing on his still unconscious daughter. "L-liz…b-but how?"

"I don't understand it," Dean said. "But, she saved our asses, so I'd rather not question it."

Sam, with Dean's help, stood up. Trying to be independent, Sam stumbled towards his daughter and fell to her side. Dean was hovering over him in a second, worried that he was injure himself further.

"Here nose was bleeding," Sam noted, reaching over to wipe the scarlet blood away. "Did the shtriga hit her or something?"

Not wanting to even think about what had just happened, Dean said, "Something like that."

Sam stood up, his movements forced and unsteady. Dean helped him out, but Sam mumbled something about being able to do it himself—the usual Winchester stubbornness.

"Let's get her to the motel room," Sam suggested. "She will hopefully wake soon."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Waiting, in Sam's opinion, is always the hardest part of the job. Waiting for a monster to appear…waiting for someone to die…waiting for his daughter to wake up…

Sam and Dean stuck around long enough to find out that the other shtriga victims were going to make a full recovery, then they shagged ass out of there. They drove for almost eighteen hours straight, only stopping for gas and necessities—Liz lying in the back, unmoving the entire time. They were able to cross two state lines before they settled into some no-name town in Nebraska.

Sam sat by Liz's bedsides—barely eating and barely sleeping. He was practically a walking, talking zombie—when he was willing to walk and talk, that is. Instead of being repulsed when Dean told Sam the actual story, he seemed to grow more protective of Liz.

"Who knows what is going on here," Sam said to Dean on the third night of waiting, as Dean called it. "I mean, how did Liz even wake up from the coma and how did she know how to mentally kill that thing?"

They weren't going to know that until Liz wakes up.

Dean didn't want to think about if Liz doesn't wake up.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

_I was back in that same room. I couldn't tell how much time past. It felt like seconds and years at the same time._

"_Hello again, Mary."_

_This time, I wasn't surprised that the man was there. "It's Liz, moron."_

"_I see you killed the shtriga," the man said, ignoring my comment. "You shouldn't do that too often: only in dire times."_

"_Define _dire times_," I told him, crossing my arms. "So, when are you going to start explaining what the hell is going on here?"_

"_In time," he said. "You wouldn't even find out about that ability until much later, but we couldn't let Sam and Dean die. In fact," the man closed the distance between us, "I think it would be best if you completely forgot this whole thing—everything."_

_The man held up to fingers. Before I could fight back, he placed them gently on my forehead. That's when the world faded into nothing._

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I slowly began to gain consciousness. It took a while for my foggy brain to comprehend what was actually going on.

"Liz," Dad said, cautiously. His hand hovered above mine, as if he was afraid that if he touched me that I would break like fine china. "Are you with me?"

My mouth felt like it was full of cotton. I could barely make out the sounds, "Uh-huh," and those don't even need any mouth motions.

"Thank God," Uncle Dean said, suddenly by Dad's side. "You scared us there, short stuff."

I attempted to sit up, but the world spun around me so I fell back onto my pillow. "How long have I been out?"

Dad hesitated before saying, "A week."

My eyes grew to the size of saucers. "_A whole week!_"

Uncle Dean nodded. "You gave us quite a scare there, Liz."

"Well…what happened?"

"What do you remember?" Dad asked me.

It took a while for my sluggish brain to think back farther than five seconds ago. I remember the shtriga breaking in and then nothing. When I relayed this information, Dad and Uncle Dean looked concerned—very concerned.

"Are you sure you don't remember anything after that?" Uncle Dean asked me. Dad elbowed him. He must have asked the wrong question.

Before I could answer, Dad said, "Why don't you go to sleep. You look exhausted."

"I've been asleep for seven days, Dad, the last thing I need is more sleep. Besides, I know there is something else you are not telling me."

"It's nothing," Dad told me.

Nothing, my ass. But, I didn't argue. I wasn't really in the mood, despite my need to find out what they weren't telling me. I just closed my eyes when I realized that, yeah, I was pretty tired.

"Maybe I will get some rest," I said, slowly moving into a more comfortable position.

"We'll be here when you wake up," Dad promised. I almost didn't hear him when he said, "We'll always be here for you."


	23. Hangover

**Chapter XXIII - Hangover**

"Dad, for the last time, I'm _fine_." I was a good little girl while I was recovering. I took my medicine, went to bed at a decent hour and, by now, I am sick of Dad acting like I'm still sick.

"Liz…you were out for _over a week_," Dad reiterated. This is his one and only argument he uses every time I try to include myself in a job. "Forgive me if I want to protect my baby girl."

"I'm thirteen now, Dad," I cried, playing my usual card. "Can't I get a little bit of freedom?"

Dad looked up at me from looking at Grandpa's journal. We were in a crowded bar in the middle of God-knows where and Uncle Dean was around somewhere, no doubt getting a number from a cute blonde named Brandi or something. "Liz, please, not now."

I was only curious as to what he found. He had his _I think I found a hunt but I want to double check this with Dean_ face on.

I spotted Uncle Dean over at the bar talking to a tiny little brunette who had the attention span of a walnut. Her thoughts mainly consisted of what she planned on doing with Uncle Dean tonight.

Oh God! Why did my powers decide now to flare up? And it seems like their sole focus is on this chick that Uncle Dean was talking with. The ironic thing was, her name was Brandy—but, with a _y_ not an _i_.

Dad motioned for Uncle Dean to come to us. He spotted us and subtly shook his head. It must have been very important, because Dad continued the motion until Uncle Dean rolled his eyes and said something to Brandy.

She, of course, wasn't too happy that Uncle Dean was leaving her. She hoped that he would be back soon so they could head back to her place and…_oh God, no!_

Must—get—images—out—of—my—head!

With two beers in hand, he walked to our table. He had a smile on his face and, even though I couldn't sense his thoughts, I'm sure they were just as kinky as Brandy's.

"Okay, so, I think I got something," Dad announced, barely looking up to acknowledge Uncle Dean. I sipped absentmindedly at my coke while doing "schoolwork" on my laptop, AKA getting updates from Lily on how life as a normal teenager was going.

"Yeah, I do too," Uncle Dean sighed, looking back towards Brandy. "I think we need to take a little shore leave—just a little one. What do you think? I'm sowing the door with this one."

It was the same old routine when Uncle Dean runs into a girl who was willing to sleep with him. He makes up some cock-and-bull cover that they somehow believe and I have to chug coffee and energy drinks until he comes home the next day in fear of mind-raping him while he is...you know…

"So, what are we this time Dean? Rock stars? Army rangers?"

"Bohemians?"

"What the hell is that? And, no. We are reality TV guys looking for people with special skills." Uncle Dean chuckled. "By the way, she's got a friend over there. I thought I could hook you up."

"I'm going to the bathroom," I said abruptly. I slammed my laptop shut and walked across the bar towards the restrooms. I stepped into the ladies room and locked the door behind me.

Okay, I can handle Uncle Dean seeing multiple women. That's all I've known for him to do. However, the idea of Dad…I didn't want to think about it.

Wanting—no, _needing_—to talk to Lily, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Lily's number. I did the math and it should only be about eight PM in Palo Alto. Mrs. Jackson shouldn't be too mad about this.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Lily, thank God!"

Lily must have sensed something was wrong because she immediately jumped into what I liked to call psychiatrist-mode. "Are you okay, Liz?"

I shook my head, only to realize that she couldn't see it. "No, I'm not. Uncle Dean, he…" My throat stopped functioning. Panic rose up within me and I could barely understand why I was like this. "He wanted to hook my dad up with someone."

Lily remained silent. I doubt I ever waited this impatiently for someone to speak in my entire life.

"I—what did your dad say?"

"I dunno," I admitted. "I kind of, um, just bolted from the table after Uncle Dean said that."

"I'm guessing you don't like the idea of your dad seeing other women," Lily said, her words slow and forced as if she was afraid that I was some sort of fragile bomb that was about to explode with no warning.

Yeah, I felt like a fragile bomb about to explode.

"I mean, I guess I want him to be happy."

"Don't give me that bull answer, Liz. Tell the truth."

Its times like these that I think Lily is the psychic one, not me. She just knows me so well—too well, in fact.

"Okay, fine," I said. "I don't like the idea of my dad seeing other women. It—I—_ugh_—I dunno, Lily. I just…"

"You just want it to be you, your dad and your uncle Dean: the three musketeers."

I sighed deeply. "You could say that."

"Liz, that's normal," Lily told me. Great, she's going from babbling-mode to psychiatrist-mode. I don't know which one was worse—I mean, at least the latter is more useful than the former. "Trust me, when my dad died, the idea of my mom hooking up with other guys scared the living daylights out of me. But, as they say, time heals all wounds and it was her time to move on."

"But, here's the difference. You're dad has been dead for practically ten years. My mom died just last year. How long did it take for your mom to move on?"

Lily remained silent on the other line. "It took a long time," she finally admitted. "However, you did not stick around long enough to find out your dad's reaction to it. He might've shot your uncle down."

Dammit, why must Lily always be right? She's annoying that way, a lot. "You're right, Lily." There was a knock on the door and I gave Lily a hasty good-bye before hanging up. I left the bathroom, giving the impatient woman an apologetic look.

I headed back to our table. Uncle Dean had rejoined the ladies and Dad acted like my abrupt departure didn't mean much.

"We're heading up to New Paltz, New York tomorrow morning," Dad announced. I was glad that he didn't give any indication on going up on Uncle Dean's offer. "That is if we can drag Dean's drunk-ass away from those two women."

I looked back at Uncle Dean flirting with those women and said, "Challenge accepted."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

To say the least, I felt like shit the next day.

Uncle Dean stumbled into the motel room about four AM. When Dad turned on the light to see who it was, it felt like a thousand daggers were being poked into my eyes. A migraine flared up and I felt like I was going to be sick.

"Was that absolutely necessary, Sammy?" Uncle Dean asked, stumbling through the motel room trying to accomplish…something. I couldn't tell what he was doing, nor did I care.

"It's Sam and, yes it was." Dad stood from the bed and sized Uncle Dean up. "I'm surprised that you are here so early. I didn't expect you until noon."

Uncle Dean shrugged. "Despite her hot ass, Brandy is not that great in bed."

"Oh, but she was so excited and had _so_ many plans," I blurted before I could stop myself.

Dad and Uncle Dean gave me an incredulous look. "How did you know about all the kinky things that she wanted to do?"

Not wanting to speak, I lazily lifted my arm in pointed at my head. Two seconds later, I couldn't hold it up any longer and it slumped back onto the bed.

"Well, isn't that just a scholarly answer," Uncle Dean muttered.

I gave him a _like I care_ look.

"So, I think we should head out," Dad suggested.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Uncle Dean muttered, eying the bathroom as if it'll save his life. And, it actually might.

"Well, that's your own damn fault," Dad said. "C'mon Liz. Let's get packed up."

I grumbled some finely chosen words that summed up how I felt at this moment. Uncle Dean walked into the bathroom and Dad went about packing a few of his stray items into his duffle. I had to force myself to climb out of bed and go about the usual early-morning-packing routine. Dad must have noticed my strained, labored movements because he looked at me and asked, "Are you okay?"

"Never been better," I muttered, my voice lathered with sarcasm.

Dad snorted. "You look just as bad as Dean right now."

I froze in the middle of grabbing some clothes to change into from my duffle. It sort of makes sense: the headache, the over-all shitty feeling—I was hungover. But, I really wasn't, since I didn't have an ounce of alcohol last night. Uncle Dean was and I was, unfortunately, feeling his pain.

I didn't reply to his comment. Instead, I was business as usual and I kept up false pretenses that I was fine. When it was my turn in the bathroom, I used the make-up I somehow have but never use on lightening the dark shadows underneath my eyes. Then again, I don't think they are completely from this psychic hangover that I seem to have.

"Hurry up, Liz," Dad called from the other side of the door. "I'd like to hit the road."

"Coming," I said, packing everything up. I forced myself to act normal as I exited the bathroom.

The ride to New Paltz, despite its short distance, felt like a millennium. My body jarred with every bump in the road, sending spikes of pain to my aching head. I was so tired that I couldn't even bother to read a book or even listen to some music. I just…didn't want to do anything. I just wanted to lie there and wished I was dead.

Once the sun rose above the horizon, it burned my eyes. I fished out my sunglasses, but it barely softened the blow. Then again, it felt good just to keep my eyes closed.

I eventually fell asleep. It was completely dark, but full of pain and misery.

Note to self: never, _ever_ drink.

I was abruptly woken up by my dad honking the horn of the Impala. The sound reverberated through my skull, each beat more painful than the last.

"What the fuck was that for?" Uncle Dean demanded, glaring at Dad who was chuckling like a maniac.

Ignoring Uncle Dean's question, Dad said, "I just went over the house with an EMF. It came up clean. Last night while you were…out—"

Uncle Dean smiled at the thought. "Good times."

I was so glad I didn't mind rape him this time. I lucked out with that Renée chick. He didn't actually go all the way (but came damn close). But, I saw what Brandy had planned. I was ecstatic that I missed it.

"I took a history of the house," Dad finished, not missing a beat. "No hauntings, no violent crimes, and nothing strange about the Classings themselves."

"Okay, so if isn't the people or the house, maybe it's the contents," Uncle Dean suggested.

Dad shook his head. "The house is clean."

"I know, you said that."

"No, Dean, the house has been emptied out. No furniture—nothing."

"Where's all their stuff?"

"I dunno."

I sat up and moved over so that I was sitting directly between Dad and Uncle Dean in the back. "Well, what normally happens to the stuff when married couples die?"

"It depends what's written on their Will," Dad said, remembering what he learned in pre-law at Stanford.

"So, we check the Will and find out where their stuff went," Uncle Dean said, laying his head back onto the door. "Wake me up when you've figured it out."

Dad laid on the horn again. I felt like punching him for it, since my headache before then started to disappear. "It'll be faster if we all research."

"You've got Liz," he muttered. "She'll be good enough."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Dad found out that the Classings went through a local law firm called Smith & Smith (no relation). Posing as FBI agents, Sam and the slightly less hungover Uncle Dean were able to get their hands on a copy of the Will.

"It looks like they donated all of their things to some sort of silent auction thing," Uncle Dean said, sounding mighty intelligent. There was a name on the Will; he just didn't care enough to remember it.

So, we headed to the silent auction. It was a very high-end auction, since the '67 Impala was parked among late model Mustangs and Ferraris. The Impala looked so out of place, I almost felt bad for "her" (I called The Impala an "it" once and Uncle Dean yelled at me. I am not making that same mistake again).

We walked through the auction with expensive paintings by people I have never heard of and fine jewelry that were ugly. They served champagne and hors d'oeuvres that I have never seen in my life beyond movies with international spies.

Just like the Impala feels out-of-place in the parking lot, I felt weird walking around. For one thing, I was the youngest one here, with Dad and Uncle Dean being next. Secondly, I was in jeans and a sweatshirt—not a good combo among the black-tie suits and semi-formal dresses. Thirdly, my powers—sorry, _abilities_—started flaring up.

"How may I help you, gentlemen?" a man came up to us and asked. He didn't even notice me. I might be short, but I'm not _that _short. Well, compared to Dad and Uncle Dean, I was pretty damn short.

Uncle Dean, who had just shoved some sort of hors d'oeuvre in his mouth, ate it obnoxiously before saying, "I'd like some champagne."

The man gave him a nasty look. Dad leaned over and whispered to Uncle Dean, "He isn't a waiter. He's the auctioneer." To the man, Dad extended his hand and politely said, "I'm Sam Connors." When the man didn't comply with the friendly gesture, Dad motioned to Uncle Dean and said, "And this is my brother, Dean, and my daughter, Liz. We are art dealers with Connors Unlimited."

"You two are art dealers," the auctioneer said, not believing it for a moment. He probably thought we were scum since we didn't look the other attendants.

"That's right." Dad said, not helping our image.

"I'm Daniel Blake," he announced. "This is my auction house. Now, gentlemen," even though I was introduced, he still ignored my existence, further causing me to hate him more, "this is a private showing and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list."

Uncle Dean matched my feelings for the man. "We're on there, Chuckles. Maybe you should check again."

Dad was growing impatient with Uncle Dean. I tried to tune all the thoughts out, but it only seemed to make it worse. Maybe I should give Missouri a call. She might know a way to block it all out when my psychic abilities flare up like this.

"Ooh, finally." A waiter came around with a tray of champagne and Uncle Dean took one from him. That is the last thing Uncle Dean needed—more alcohol.

"Cheers," Dad muttered as the three of us walked away from Daniel Blake. We looked around at the other junk. I didn't really pay attention to any in particular. I left the search of a cursed object to more trained eyes like Dad's and Uncle Dean's.

But, then I saw the painting—well, more like felt it. I now understood what Missouri meant by "dark energy". The family portrait that looked ancient seemed unnatural.

I think I found it.

"Hey Dad," I called to him. He came over and I pointed to the portrait. "Look at this painting."

"A fine example of American primitive, don't you agree?"

I turned around sharply to face a woman in a revealing black dress walking down the stairs. Dad sheepishly turned away from the woman. Uncle Dean elbowed him and he turned back around.

"Well, I'd say it was more Granwood than Grandma Moses," Dad commented as the woman stepped off the staircase.

Uh…what?

"But, you knew that," Dad said. "You just wanted to see if I did."

I wanted to make a comment (something along the lines of _I thought I was the telepathic one_), but then I realized that this woman would probably think we were freaks or something. Even though, yeah, we are.

The woman gave him a wily grin. "Guilty," she said. "And clumsy." She extended her hand and continued, "I'm Sarah Blake."

"I'm Sam," he said, shaking her hand.

Everything slowed down around me. Auras swirled in my vision. My sole focus was on Dad's and Sarah's. They were both one solid color that intermingled between each other—pink: love, sincerity, friendship.

Time resumed as normal. Dad introduced Uncle Dean and I to Sarah. They talked about…something. I couldn't really focus on what was happening in reality because all I could think about was the fact that my dad was in love with Sarah Blake.


	24. Showcase

_Author's Note: HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE! I was hoping to post this as my last update of 2011, but it is, instead, my first update of 2012. _

**Chapter XXIV - Showcase**

After some odd conversing, Daniel "Douche" Blake practically kicked us out. At least, I think he kicked us out. My mind was still miles away.

Uncle Dean got a motel room and, the moment we stepped inside, I completely forgot about my current predicament. The motel room was sort of like my dream room—modern, black, white and steel, and tastefully decorated. The three of us sort of just stood in awe. I almost expected some sort of techno-ish music to start playing, that's how amazing this room was.

"Huh," the three of us muttered simultaneously. As if the spell was broken, the two of them walked towards the two beds while I headed towards the couch. By now, I don't even question my spot in the motel room.

I have to say that the leather couch was very, _very_ comfortable. It was definitely going to be hard to wake up in the morning.

"So, what is with that providence?" Uncle Dean asked.

"_Provenance_," Dad corrected him. "It's a certificate of origin—like a biography. You know, we can use them to track the history of the pieces. See if there is something with a freaky past."

"Huh, so, we aren't getting anything out of Chuckles. But, Sarah…"

Usually when they talked, I just pretend that I am doing something productive like unpacking or my homework. I keep an ear tuned to their conversation, in case it is something important that I shouldn't miss. However, at the mere mention of Sarah, I wanted to run as far away as possible.

I didn't like it—not one bit. I _really_ didn't like the idea of Dad hooking up with some random chick in a bar like Uncle Dean wanted him to. But, even though I _knew_ that those two have chemistry, I'm going to have to say hell no to that idea.

Then I remember my conversation with Lily. She said that it might be his time to move on. Dad might be ready to move on, but I wasn't.

Before I realized it, I was heading into the bathroom. I slammed the door behind me and sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

Here I was, a girl who has come up against ghosts, shifters and other nasties and I can't even deal with my dad being infatuated with a chick. God, I was the worst excuse for a daughter of a hunter ever.

I had no clue how long I sat there. I heard a knock on the door and Dad calling, "Hey, Liz. You done in there? I gotta get ready."

I was confused. "Ready for what?"

"I…I have a date with Sarah."

Those six words were the last thing I wanted to hear. I left the bathroom without another word. If Dad noticed my hostility, he didn't verbally mention it.

I sat down on the couch that doubled as my bed. I grabbed a random book out of my bag and tried to focus on it. Of course, there was no way that was ever going to happen.

I literally jumped out of my pants when Uncle Dean said my name. "Whoa, hey! Where's the fire? I was just going to head to a diner or something. Do you want anything?"

I blinked at him a few times before what he was asking sunk in. "Uh…my usual."

Uncle Dean rolled his eyes. "No, I am not going to say _that_."

"You make it sound like what I am ordering is dirty. I just want a Reuben, I just don't like sauerkraut. So, please, just order my Reuben without sauerkraut."

He glared at me. "It's just…the waiters always look at me funny. It's annoying."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, just get me a burger then."

Uncle Dean grabbed his leather jacket. He left and I was alone with me, my antagonistic thoughts and my dad, the betrayer.

Dad stepped out of the bathroom. He had black pants on and was comparing two dress shirts to wear—one white and one light grey. "Which one do you think, Liz?" He looked up me, expectantly. I started at him, wide-eyed. "Which dress shirt do you think I should go with?"

I really didn't want to help him, since this was all for Sarah. However, the pleading look in his eyes made him look pathetic…and lost, I guess. He and Mom had been together for almost thirteen years when she died. In that time, Mom helped him get dressed when they went out to dinner or something. "What jacket are you wearing with those pants?" I asked him.

"The navy one."

I glared at him. "With black pants?"

Dad nodded.

"God, no wonder Mom always yelled at you when you had to dress nicely." I stood up from the couch and crossed over to his duffle. "First off, you _never_ wear both black and navy. You wear one or you wear the other. Second, I would either do the black suit and white shirt combo with this awesome tie I got you for father's day or the navy suit and grey shirt combo with the tie I go you for father's day."

"Why do you insist that I wear the tie I got from you?" he asked me, putting on the white dress shirt.

"Because, the tie I got for you is totally awesome."

"But…it's got _pink_ in it."

I sighed deeply. "It's a dusty rose and it has other colors mixed in. Besides, chicks dig guys who are willing to wear more feminine colors. Mom was totally all over you when I forced you to wear that purple shirt I got you for Christmas a couple years ago."

Dad just stared at me. "Okay, how come this seems out of character for you to have such a sense of fashion?"

I didn't have the heart to tell him that Mom forced a lot of this information on me. Instead, I told him, "What, I'm a girl. No matter how tomboy-ish one is, a girl knows _something_ about fashion."

Dad tucked his dress shirt in and grabbed the tie from my out-stretched hand. "I worry about you sometimes."

"You wouldn't be a father if you didn't."

Dad fixed his tie and pulled his jacket on. "Well, how do I look?"

"A million times better since you asked for my help." I stepped back and assessed his appearance. Standing on my tippy-toes and using his shoulder for balance, I toyed with his bangs. "Really, these don't like to stay out of your eyes, do they?"

Dad shoved me away, playfully. "No, they don't. And quit touching them, I finally got them just right."

I chuckled. "You are such a woman sometimes, you know that?"

He just rolled his eyes. "Well, wish me luck."

I didn't want to, so I just told him goodbye and he grabbed the keys to the Impala. He left, muttering to himself about…something.

It was an hour or so before Uncle Dean got back with dinner. He handed me my bag of a burger and fries. "It sucks having to walk," Uncle Dean said. "I ordered two burgers to make up for the calories I burned."

I highly doubt that Uncle Dean walked off a burger worth of calories by walking, but I didn't say anything. I just looked at my bland dinner and I felt like I was going to puke.

It was a slightly awkward dinner. Uncle Dean channel surfed while I chocked down my burger, gagging on every bite. I pretended to read my book, but my mind wandered and I had to back track every couple of pages just to figure out what was going on.

The words began to blur and I realized how tired I was. But, I can't fall asleep. I can't while Dad was on his date with Sarah. The last thing I wanted to do was barge in on the middle of their date.

Maybe I could persuade Uncle Dean to play a card game or something. I have been bugging him to teach me how to play poker. This would be a good time. I looked over at him to see that he had fallen asleep with a half of his beer in hand.

"Oh, come on," I muttered, sitting back and continued watching a rerun of _Doctor Sexy_. No matter how much Uncle Dean denies it, I know he is a big fan of the show. He's probably a bigger fan than Mom, and that is next to impossible.

"So, you studied art in school?"

Well, hell. I must've fallen asleep. Dammit!

"Yeah, I was an artist—a terrible, _terrible_ artist." Sarah grabbed the beer the waiter had just placed down and took a sip of it. "And that is why I'm in the auction business." Silence fell over them for a moment before Sarah continued. "You were pre-law…but you didn't go to law school. How come?"

Dad just smiled meekly at her. "Well, that is a long story for another time."

"You are not like any other art dealer I've met," Sarah commented.

An awkward silence fell between them, neither one of them knowing where to go from there. Dad shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Sarah didn't look very relaxed either.

"So," Dad said, finally breaking the silence, "what did you mean by you haven't been on a date in a while? Trying to make me feel better?"

"You are many things, Sam. I am sure loser is not one of them."

Don't you think you're lathering it on a bit too thick, Sarah?

"It was my mom," Sarah said, after a long beat of silence. "She died about a year ago—totally unexpected. It really threw me. I went into this shell—this nice, safe shell. But, lately, I've been thinking…it's not what she wanted for me. So…" Sarah looked like she wanted to add more—a hell of a lot more—but she just smiled and looked up at my Dad expectantly. "So, what about you?"

Dad was not surprised, but still taken aback by the question. "What about me?"

"You are a reasonably attractive guy…why haven't you been out and about?"

Dad, despite knowing the good intentions behind the question, dreaded to answer it. His smile faltered and he looked down, away from Sarah. She automatically took is as, "Another long story for another time." She repeated his words in perfect rhythm.

Dad only nodded. "I understand," Sarah said, reaching across the table to squeeze Dad's hands affectionately. "C'mon. Let's head back to my place. I've got those provenances you were looking for."

So, Dad paid for dinner and the two of them walked out into the parking lot. Like the gentleman Dad was, he opened the passenger door of the Impala for Sarah. On the way back to Sarah's, they just talked. It was hard to tell, really, what they were talking about. The subject changed every few minutes.

After her mother died, Sarah went back to living with her father, who was currently out at the moment. Sarah poured a couple glasses of wine while Dad was over in the living room looking over a few provenances. They just sat there and talked about the artsy-fartsy stuff that went right over my head.

"Wow, I didn't realize what time it was," Dad said, looking up at the wall clock. "I-I better get going." He sounded apologetic, as if he really didn't want to leave but had to.

"No, I understand," Sarah said, helping him gather the provenances.

They walked back to the front door and Dad stepped outside.

"Thanks for the great evening," Sarah said, giving Dad a playful smile.

Now, I may not have much experiences with boys (I did go out with this kid named Travis for all of a day back in sixth grade, a day that I prefer to forget, by the way), but I have seen enough romantic comedies against my will to understand that this would be the perfect moment for Dad to give Sarah a kiss and say a reluctant goodnight under the stars.

However, my dad simply bid her good evening and walked back towards the Impala with the provenances in hand.

It is official: my dad forgot how to be a man. The look on Sarah's face strongly suggested that she wanted a kiss from him and was disappointed when she didn't receive one.

A woke up in the motel room after Dad slammed the door shut to the Impala. Uncle Dean was awake now, but seemed pretty startled.

"God, that always freaks me out," he muttered, taking a swig of his beer.

"What does?" I asked, already knowing the answer but secretly wished it wasn't what I was thinking.

"The whole you not breathing thing," he answered. "Lemme guess, you mind-raped Sam while he was on his date."

"Congratulations, you won the showcase," I grumbled sarcastically.

"What did I win, Bob?" he asked, a teasing smile on his face.

I rolled my eyes, but decided to play along. "You win a moody teenager, a brother who forgot how to date and a killer painting."

"Wait…did Sam screw up on his date?" Uncle Dean asked, suddenly serious. Why should he care how well Dad does on a date? Then again, it was Uncle Dean who pushed Dad into doing it. I just thought that he only wanted this to get those stupid provenances. Then again, maybe he thought that if Dad screwed up then he wouldn't have gotten those provenances from Sarah.

Well, I just confused myself trying to figure this situation out.

"He still got the provenances," I promised. "He just didn't kiss her goodnight like she expected."

Uncle Dean shook his head. "I'm going to kick that boy's ass."

To be honest, yeah, he forgot the golden rule for dating. But, it was a relief that he didn't kiss her. It means that maybe—just maybe—that he truly didn't have feelings for her. But, there is still their interconnected auras—that has to mean something much deeper than simple lust, right?

Well, it looks like I'm overanalyzing everything.

When Dad arrived back to the motel, I made Uncle Dean do all the talking. He, of course, didn't flat out say that he knew what happened (well, some of what happened) on Dad's date. Uncle Dean was cleverer than that.

"Alright, hey, I think I got something here," Dad announced, after dodging Uncle Dean's many questions. I pretended to be working on my schoolwork like a good little daughter. Of course, as usual, I kept an ear tuned to what Dad and Uncle Dean were talking about. I may not be able to get up close and personal with the actual hunt most of the time; it's just a good thing to stay informed.

"Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family in 1910," Uncle Dean read aloud.

"Now compare the names of the owners with Dad's journal."

Uncle Dean sat down next to Dad and continued reading aloud the provenances while Dad pointed at each name that was listed in John's journal.

"So, do you think it's haunted or cursed?" Dad asked, even though the answer was as obvious as a full moon.

"Either way, it's toast."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The plan was simple: break into the auction house, take the painting and burn it—end of story. I, of course, sat in the Impala with the engine on idle while Dad and Uncle Dean go and do the dirty work. I watched as they climbed over the wrought iron fence and disappeared from view.

Don't ask me why they thought it was a good idea that I tagged along on this one. Maybe it was because this probably would end up being a simple burning, unlike a lot of our cases. Then again: we are Winchesters. If something could go wrong, it _is _going to go wrong.

They raced back towards the Impala in record time. I clocked them at four minutes and eighteen seconds. The two of them climbed into the Impala. Dad had the portrait rolled up in his hands.

Uncle Dean drove the Impala down a dirt road that lead into the woods. It was damp—so it wouldn't spread and create a wildfire—and it was away from people—so it wouldn't attract attention.

Dad unrolled it and Uncle Dean struck a match in a ceremonial matter. "Ugly ass thing," he muttered. "If you ask me, we're doing the art world a favor."

He threw down the match and the canvas immediately went up in flames. We watched it for a few seconds before the three of us headed back to the Impala.

"Let's get some sleep tonight," Dad suggested. "We should hit the road by morning."

As much as I liked that plan, there was something in the pit of my stomach that this wasn't going to happen—and it certainly wasn't all about Sarah Blake.


	25. Suffocating

**Chapter XXV - Suffocating**

"We've got a problem. I lost my wallet!" Uncle Dean said the next morning as we packed up to leave. He frantically searched around the room, disheveling everything in his path.

"How's that our problem?" Dad asked, shoving his clothes back into the duffel that Uncle Dean just tore apart in search of his wallet.

"Because I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night," Uncle Dean cried, crossing over the other side of the motel room and rummaged through his jacket for the umpteenth time.

Dad looked at him, bewildered. "You're kidding me, right?"

"It's got my prints—my ID…well, my fake ID. Anyway, we need to get it before someone else does. C'mon."

We made it to the auction house in record time. The three of us searched high and low for Uncle Dean's stupid wallet. We even looked in odd places like inside antique bird baths and underneath flower pots. There was no way we were going to miss that thing.

I was lifting up a box when a perky, little, "Hey guys," echoed behind us. I quickly put the thing down, hoping that Sarah wouldn't notice.

Of course we would run into her.

"Sarah," Dad said, not even masking the "aw shit" tone in his voice, "hi."

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh…uh…" Dad looked at Uncle Dean and me. I shrugged at him while Uncle Dean simply gave him the noiseless challenge to come up with something himself. "We're leaving town and, you know, we came to say goodbye."

Uncle Dean stood from leaning against an old fashioned table. "What are you talking about, Sam? We're sticking around for at least another day or two. Oh," Uncle Dean pulled out his "missing" wallet from his back pocket, "and here's that twenty I almost forgot to give you."

Dad gave him a confused look, Sarah laughed awkwardly and I was lost about this situation completely.

"Well, we'll leave you two crazy kids alone. We've got to do…something." Uncle Dean tugged at my sleeve to follow him. That's when I realized that "we" meant him and me.

When we were out of earshot of Dad and Sarah, I turned to Uncle Dean and cried, "Dude, you just totally Rick Roll'd Dad!"

"I did what?" Uncle Dean asked, pretending like he was interested in some sort of antique necklace.

"Pulled a Leo Bloom on him?" I tried, trying to come up with some sort of reference that maybe—just maybe—we both understand.

"Nope, still don't understand."

"Pulled a Draco Malfoy?"

He shook his head.

"A Murtagh?"

"What the hell is a Murtagh?"

"He's…never mind. You tricked Dad into coming here so that he would have to talk to Sarah again."

"Oh," Uncle Dean sighed, epiphany-style. "Yeah, I guess I did, didn't I."

I was about to say something else, but Dad breezed by us, looking shaken up. "We've got a huge-ass problem."

Dad continued towards the door. Uncle Dean and I looked at each other. "Uh…what just happened here?"

"I think Dad went Luke Skywalker on us," I muttered.

"Finally! A reference I actually understand!"

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"I don't understand, I thought we burned the damn thing," I commented, after Dad explained to us why he left the auction house in a haste. Apparent, the ugly portrait that we burned was completely unscathed and was still in its original glory…if you could call it that.

"Hey, language," Dad warned, which simply went in one ear and out the other.

"We just need to figure out another way to get rid of it," Uncle Dean suggested. After a few beats of silence, he asked, "Any ideas?"

"Okay, alright…in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it's always the paintings subject that haunts them."

"Yeah, okay, so we need to find out information about that creepy-ass family in that creepy-ass painting."

"And I wonder why my daughter swears so much," Dad muttered.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

At the library, there was this spastic librarian who threw dusty books on top of the table in front of us about Isaiah Merchant and his family. "I've got every scrap of every document I could find," he cried, opening up one of the books. "You guys crime buffs?" he asked, out of the blue.

Uncle Dean considered his words a moment before saying, "Kind of. Why you ask?"

"Well," the spastic librarian muttered, pulling out an old newspaper with the main headline talking about the Titanic sinking. He pointed to a sub-article on the side of a picture of the Titanic that said, "Father Slaughters Family, Kills Self."

To be honest, the Titanic sinking is more interesting. Of course, we aren't on a job about the Titanic. If we were, the only thing on my mind would be Leonardo DeCaprio and that song by Celine Dion.

"Yes, that sounds about right," Uncle Dean said.

"The family was killed?" Dad asked, the many wheels figuratively whirling in his head as he tried to piece the puzzle together that is that fugly painting.

"It seems that this Isaiah slits his kids' throats and then his wife's and then himself. A barber by trade—used a straight razor."

"Why did he do it?"

In sharp, choppy movements, the librarian flipped the newspaper around so he could read it. "Uh…people who knew him said that Isaiah was known for his stern and harsh temperament…controlled his family with an iron fist…wife, two sons, an adopted daughter…doo-doo-doo…ah, here we go! There were whispers that the wife was going to take the kids and leave…and, well, you know, in that day-and-age…anyway, old man Merchant—" he made a slicing motion with a finger and his neck and chuckled "—gave them all a shave."

Uncle Dean laughed along with him, Dad gave one of his infamous bitch-faces and I just stood there like an idiot.

"Does it say what happened to the bodies?" Uncle Dean asked.

"Just that they were all cremated."

Well, hell. That was not a good thing. If Isaiah Merchant was just buried, then we could salt-and-burn his ass. Now, it's making our job a million times harder now that we need to figure out another way to gank his ghost…or whatever it is.

"Anything else?" Dad asked, completely annoyed at this point—at the fact, at Uncle Dean and, probably at this point, the whole freaking world.

"Ah, yes," the spastic librarian said, digging through the pages of another book. "I have a picture of the family somewhere. Right—here it is."

It was the same as the painting that we tried to burn last night. However, Dad acted like he had seen a ghost—no pun intended. He even requested a copy of it. There was no doubt that he was seeing something that Uncle Dean and I were totally missing.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"I'm telling you man, I'm sure of it," Dad shouted as the three of us sat around the kitchenette with a copy of the painting between us. "In the painting, Isaiah is looking down and in this one, he is looking up. His position has changed, Dean."

"So, you think daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and his handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family."

"Uh, yeah, it seems like it," Dad said, border lining on hysterical. "But if his bones are already dusted, how are we going to stop him?"

I was completely lost. I sat back in frustration, decided to let the professionals (well, as professional as they could possibly get) figure this out.

"Alright, well, if Isaiah's position changed maybe some other things in the painting changed as well. It could give us some clues."

"Like a _Da Vinci Code_ deal?" Dad asked.

Uncle Dean gave him an incredulous look. "Okay, what is with you two and making references to things I don't understand?"

"Maybe you need to brush up on your pop culture," I suggested.

He just glared at me. "Anyway, we need to get back in there and see that painting. Which is a good thing, because it'll give you more time to crush on your girlfriend."

"Dude, enough already."

"What?"

"Ever since we got here, you've been trying to pin me up with Sarah. Back off, alright?"

"Well, you like her, don't you?"

His silence was answer enough for Uncle Dean. I began to panic. Memories of how I felt when I thought Dad had a crush on Meg flooded back and it took all of my willpower not to yell at him for forgetting about Mom.

"So, you like her. She likes you. You are both consenting adults."

"What's the point, Dean? We'll leave. We always leave."

"I'm not talking about marriage, Sam."

"No, I don't get it. Why do you care if I hook up?"

"Because maybe you won't be so cranky all the time."

My head moved back and forth like I was watching a tennis match. Dad was slowly getting angrier while Uncle Dean just lounged on the couch like what he was trying to do was a task from God himself.

Dad humorlessly laughed.

"No, I'm serious, Sam. It isn't just about hooking up, okay. I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you. And, I don't mean any disrespect, but I am sure that this is about Jessica, right?"

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. I wanted to run away from this. Everything seemed too close all of a sudden. The wildly designed walls were drawing closer and closer and even Dad, who used to be a good five feet away, seemed to be on top of me. My ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton, but I could still hear Uncle Dean's voice loud and clear.

"Now, I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that," Uncle Dean began, "but…I think she would want you to be happy—God forbid have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?"

Silence was trying to shove rocks down my throat. It was growing hard to breathe. I looked up at Dad. He was full of pent-up emotions to. It had been so easy so far: focus on a baddie—figure out what killed her. Once in a while, our sadness would show, but we were always able to mask it. Now, our feelings were out in the open for the world to see.

"Yeah, I know she would," Dad finally said, his words were a saw cutting through wood. It was the truth and it hurt like hell. "Yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica. But…not the main part."

"What's it about?"

I looked at Dad, begging—pleading—for my psychic powers to kick in so I could understand his cryptic tongue. Of course, he remained silent, leaving us with riddles.

"Yeah, alright," Uncle Dean sighed. He leaned back onto the bed—chick-flick moment officially over. "But, we still need to see that painting which means you still need to call Sarah."

Dad slowly picked up his phone and dialed up Sarah's number. I walked over to the couch. It felt like my legs were jell-o as I tried walking on a boat in the middle of a hurricane. I'm surprised I made it the short distance it took to get to the couch.

How could he even think about talking to that bitch?

"Sarah! Hey, it's Sam….Hey, hi….Good, good. How about you….Good, good. Really good!"

"Smooth," Uncle Dean muttered.

"So, ah…so, listen. Me and my brother were thinking that maybe we could come back in and look at the painting again. I think we are interested in buying it." There was a long pause while Sarah said something to Dad. "What?" He abruptly stood up. "Who'd you sell it to?"

"Sarah, I need an address right now!" Dad groaned in frustration as he waited for Sarah to finish speaking. "This is important. Whoever owns that painting is in danger." Another impatient pause and then, "I don't have time to explain. Please, just…just give me the address.

"What's wrong, Sam?" Uncle Dean asked, standing cautiously from the bed.

Dad ignored Uncle Dean's question as he wrote down the address. "No, don't meet us there. We can handle this. Sarah? SARAH?" Dad looked at the screen on his phone. "Dammit, she hung up on me."

"What the hell is going on?" Uncle Dean practically shouted.

"Daniel sold that goddamn painting," Dad said, scrambling to get his coat. "I've got an address. Let's get their before—" He didn't finish his statement. He didn't need to.

In a matter of moments, we were breaking every traffic law in the state of New York trying to get to the address that Dad had gotten from Sarah. The entire drive down, Dad kept muttering to himself that Sarah better not show up.

After getting turned around twice, we finally found the house with the killer painting. Uncle Dean parked behind a Jeep with its lights on. Sarah hops out of the driver's seat.

"Sam, what is going on?" she asked.

So, I may not be a huge fan of her, but at least she's stubborn enough (or stupid enough) to disobey what Dad told her to do. Maybe she isn't so bad after all.

"I told you not to come," Dad shouted as the four of us ran towards the nice home. And boy was it nice with Greek-style columns and Masonic siding.

Uncle Dean tried the doorknob. It was locked. "Hey! Anybody home?"

"You said Evelyn could be in danger," Sarah said, accusatorily. "What kind of danger?"

"There is no way I can knock this open," Uncle Dean said. "I'm gonna have to pick it."

Dad growled in frustration as he ignored Sarah's question and walked across the front porch to a window with a light shining through it.

"What are you guys? Burglars?"

"Maybe you two should go wait in the car. It's for your own good."

"Like hell we are," Sarah and I said, simultaneously.

We walked cautiously into the house, as if afraid of waking anyone up. "Evelyn?" Dad called out. He waited for some sort of reply. None came.

We walked into the living room where we saw Evelyn sitting in a chair, looking as if she was studying the lamp intently. She was unmoving, which was far from a good sign.

"Evelyn?" Sarah called out this time. We walked farther into the living room. A clock on the wall ticked with every second. The portrait of Isaiah Merchant and his family hung lifelessly over the mantel.

"Evelyn…it's Sarah Blake." We were right next to Evelyn now. Her eyes were wide open, staring, unblinking. "You alright?" Sarah reached out to tap Evelyn's shoulder.

"SARAH NO!"

Slowly, Evelyn's head fell backwards. Sarah released an earsplitting scream. She backed away from Evelyn's body and Dad pulled her in as if that would help erase what Sarah just saw. The only thing that could be said in this moment was that we were too late.


	26. Adversary

**Chapter XXVI - Adversary**

Dad was a worried mess. He kept waiting for Sarah to call, looking at his phone every few seconds. Uncle Dean and I tried to get him to at least sit down instead of pace, since he was practically making a hole in the carpet.

I could understand where he was coming from. When Lily found out about that the things that we saw in horror movies were real, I didn't think any of it. That is, until she started talking about how she can't even sleep at night since she thinks there are _is_ something in her closet. I honestly don't remember feeling that way. Well, maybe because Uncle Dean and Dad taught me the difference between what is real and what is fake. Also, they are also there to stop if there is something lurking in the shadows. Lily has herself and her weapon of choice: hairspray.

A knock came from the door and I have never seen someone move as quickly as Dad did to answer it. "Hey," he said. Sarah barged into the room. "You alright?"

"No," Sarah practically shouted, "I am not alright. I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's _alone_ and found her like that!"

"Thank you," Dad said, after an awkward silence.

"No, don't think me. I'm about to call them right back if you don't tell me what the hell is going on. Who's killing these people?"

Dad looked back at us, trying to find some support. We both gave him a look that said that he was alone on this one. He sighed deeply before turning back towards Sarah and answering. "What."

"What?"

"It's not a who—it's what is killing those people." Sarah just looked at him incredulously. "I know you saw the painting move."

I was confused. "Wait? The painting moved?" I whispered to Uncle Dean.

He snorted. "Way to be observant."

"No, no, no," Sarah cried, walking away from Dad. "I was seeing things—it's impossible."

"Yeah, well, welcome to our world," Uncle Dean said in a monotone voice.

"Sarah," Dad sighed. "I know this sounds crazy, but we think that painting is haunted."

Sarah looked between the three of us, as if trying to figure out if we were telling the truth or a bunch of psychopaths who were in dire need of therapy. Well, we're technically both.

"You're joking, right?"

We answered her with silence.

"You're not joking. God, the guys I go out with."

That would be a burn on Dad's behalf.

"Sarah, think about it: Evelyn, The Teleskas, and there were others before them. Wherever this painting goes, people die and we are just trying to stop it. And that's the truth."

By now, I expected Sarah to be running out of the motel room, dialing 9-1-1 and calling us Satanists or something like that. That is what normal people do. However, she shocked the world with her next statement.

"Well, then, I guess you'll have to show me. I'm coming with you."

"No. Sarah, no, you should just go home. This stuff could get dangerous and…and I don't want you to get hurt."

Well, this proves that Dad cares more about the safety of some chick he met three days ago then his own daughter. Then again, that's not really fair of me to say that. He does try—I just don't listen to him very often.

"Look you guys are probably crazy about this. But me and my dad are responsible for selling that painting. We might've gotten those people killed. God, I'm not saying I'm not scared because I am as scared as hell, but I am not going to go run and hide either." She strides across the motel room and opens the door. "So, are we going or what?"

"Sam," Uncle Dean said, pointing to the door, "marry that girl."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The ride to Evelyn's house was awkward. Sarah sat in the back with me and I was afraid to even grab my phone when it began vibrating in my pocket. Not a word was spoken the entire time. No one even tried to spark a conversation.

Evelyn's house was guarded off by police caution tape. Dad, Uncle Dean and I walked underneath it like we owned the place. Dad immediately went to work on picking the lock.

"Uh…isn't this a crime scene?" she asked.

"You already lied to the cops," Uncle Dean said, pulling out his knife. "What's another infraction?" He sliced the sticker that stated _Do Not Cross: Crime Scene_ and we were in.

Once inside, we immediately headed into the living room, dodging instruments that the detectives use to figure out what happened during a crime with no living witnesses. Dad pulled down the portrait and placed it gently on the couch. He and Uncle Dean studied it intently. I just stood there, acting like I knew what I was doing and Sarah looked around the room constantly as if she was expecting some sort of ghost to suddenly appear and kill her.

"Aren't you guys afraid that thing is going to kill us?" Sarah blurted out.

"No," Dad said, "it seems to do its killing at night. We should be safe during the day."

Sarah nodded in understanding, but I doubt she actually believes it.

"Sam, check it out," Uncle Dean said, handing the copy of the original painting to Dad. "The razor is closed in this one but open in the portrait."

"What are you guys looking for?" Sarah asked.

"Well, the spirit is changing aspects of the painting. It's gotta be for a reason." Uncle Dean said.

"Hey, check out the painting within a painting," Dad said, motioning towards the background of the portrait.

I leaned in closer. On the copy, it was just a scenery picture with mountains. However, on the portrait, there was a picture of a crypt or mausoleum or something.

Uncle Dean grabbed a glass ash tray and held it up to the portrait to get a closer look at the crypt or whatever. In ancient-looking letters, it said _Merchant_.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

There were a lot more cemeteries than we thought there would be in New Paltz. We were on our third one and we still haven't seen anything like the crypt we saw in the portrait. Maybe this spirit or whatever is busting our balls.

And, to make things a million times worse, Sarah would not shut up.

"So, is this what you guys do for a living?" she asked.

Dad shrugged. "Not exactly. We don't get paid."

"Well…_mazel tov_!"

Uncle Dean stops abruptly. He points to the exact same crypt that we saw in the portrait. He pulls out his heavy-duty pliers and snips the lock.

It was full of bugs buzzing around and dust flying through the air. Immediately, it felt like my nose was about to explode.

Fantastic.

"Okay, not gonna lie. That is the creepiest thing I have ever seen." Sarah pointed to a glass case with an old fashioned doll in it.

"It's a—it's actually tradition back then to preserve a dead child's toy in a glass case by the headstone or crypt," Dad said, an endless encyclopedia of useless facts.

"Notice anything strange here?" Uncle Dean asked, suddenly the serious one.

"Uh…where do I start?" Sarah asked.

"No, not what I mean," Uncle Dean said. "Look at the urns."

I looked at them, trying to figure out what was wrong. They looked like typical urns with, you know, designs and cremated bodies inside.

But, it wasn't the urns themselves…

"There's only four," I said. "There should be five."

"Yeah, there's the mother and the three kids," Uncle Dean added. "Daddy dearest isn't here."

"Then where is he?" Dad asked.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

In my short life, I have dealt with many awkward moments, many of which were created by yours truly. However, I believe this one tops the list off at number two, falling second to the worst moment of my life.

Uncle Dean was busy posing as some sort of government official trying to get records to find out where Isaiah Merchant's body is. Dad normally would go and leave me in the Impala to my own devices. However, he didn't want to leave Sarah alone with me, as if the two of us alone would start world war three or something.

And, yeah, it might have.

So, while Uncle Dean got out of having to deal with the "semi-happy couple", I got to awkwardly sit on the park bench next to theirs while they have their couply-wouply talk about their feelings.

"Tell me exactly what your brother is doing."

"Searching county death certificates—trying to find what happened to Isaiah's body."

"How did he even get in the door?"

"Lying and subterfuge, mostly. Hang on, you've got an eyelash. No—wait. Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

Slowly, Dad leaned in a grabbed a loose eyelash from the corner of Sarah's eye. Is I watched this, I felt like I was going to hurl.

"'Kay, got it. Make a wish."

Sarah takes a moment to consider her wish before blowing it away. I had a feeling that I know what she wished for…

Lord, it's me again…get me the hell out of here!

"Sam, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"I don't mean to be forward but a girl could wait here forever. Is there something here between us or am I delusional?"

"You're not delusional."

"But, there's a_ but_ coming."

"But, I don't think this would be a good idea."

"Can I ask why?"

"'Cause I like you."

Oh, yeah, that makes complete sense. We can't be together because I like you. Way to act like an overdramatic teenager, Dad.

"Wait…you lost me."

"Look, it's hard to explain. It's…when people are around me…I dunno, they get hurt."

"What do you mean?"

"Like physically hurt. With what me and my brother do….Sarah, I had a wife and she died and my mom died too. I dunno what, it's like I'm cursed or something. Like death just follows me around. Look, I'm not scared of much, but if I let myself have feelings for anybody—"

"—you're scared they could get hurt too," Sarah finished when Dad was unable. He looked so…fragile. "That's very sweet and very archaic."

"Sorry?"

"Look, I'm a big girl, Sam. It's not your job to make decisions for me. There's always a chance of getting hurt."

"I'm not talking about a broken heart and a tub of _Häagen-Dazs. I'm talking about life and death."_

_"And tomorrow, I can get hit by a bus. That's the way life is. Look, I know, losing somebody you love it is terrible. You shut yourself off, believe me, I know. But when you shut out pain, you shut out everything else."_

_"Sarah, you don't understand. The pain I went through…I can't go through with it again. I can't."_

_It was then and there that I saw my dad in a whole new light. I didn't see a man who lost his wife in a horrifying manor or a father who was lost on what to do about his special daughter. I just saw Sam Winchester who, for all I knew, was in love with Sarah and hated it because that means that she is in danger. From what, he hadn't a clue._

_"Am I interrupting something?" Uncle Dean asked, appearing out of nowhere. Impeccable timing, this one has._

_"No."_

_"Not at all."_

_"Huh, apparently." Uncle Dean did not look convinced._

_"So, what did you get?" Dad asked, obviously wanting to forget about his previous conversation with Sarah._

_"The papers. Apparently, the surviving relatives of the Merchants were so ashamed of Isaiah that they didn't want him cremated with the rest of the family. So, they handed him off to the county, gave him the poppers—economy-style. It turns out that he wasn't cremated, but buried in a pine box."_

_"There are bones to burn," Dad said._

_"There are bones to burn," Uncle Dean reaffirmed, a little too excited, actually._

_"Do you know where?"_

_Uncle Dean gave us a smirk. Of course he knows __exactly__ where Isaiah Merchant was buried. He may be an idiot, but he's not actually an idiot he just acts like one._

_**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**_

So, later that night, the four of us snuck out to Isaiah Merchant's gravesite. Sarah and I held the flashlights so that Dad and Uncle Dean could see where they were digging. I had a smile on my face the entire time, mainly because of the disgusted look on Sarah's face.

"You guys are uncomfortably comfortable with this," Sarah said, watching Dad and Uncle Dean.

I shrugged. "Well, this isn't necessarily our first grave we've ever dug up," I said, crossing my arms. Well, this is the first that I'm actually a part of, but she didn't need to know that.

"Doesn't it seem, I dunno, weird?" Sarah asked.

I shook my head. "You get used to it, I guess."

"I mean, how old are you? Eleven? Twelve?"

"I'm thirteen, thank you very much," I snapped.

"Even so…aren't you at all scared?"

I must one damn good poker face. To be honest, I have been fooling myself. I was scared as hell. I'd like to think that I can handle whatever is thrown at me. But, to be honest, I couldn't stand being around the monsters and the death. I'm used to the idea, I guess, but not the feeling.

"A little."

Dad hopped out of the grave and stood by Sarah. He was coated with dirt and sweat. I could tell that was a definite turn-on for Sarah. Instead of worrying about the love birds, I watched Uncle Dean intently as he dug up the last few piles of dirt off Isaiah Merchant's coffin. I watched him as if I was watching a Broadway production and I wanted to memorize every detail.

"Think I got something," Uncle Dean said, banging his shovel against something hollow. I peered into the grave as he pushed down harder on the shovel until the lid of the coffin breaks. Soon enough, we see the antique white bones of Isaiah Merchant.

I felt like I was going to hurl.

Dad and Uncle Dean removed the rest of the lid. They sprinkled the bones with salt and drenched the coffin in gasoline. Uncle Dean lit up a match and said, "Isaiah…you've been a real pain in the ass." He threw the match into the grave and the flames engulfed what was left of Isaiah Merchant's body.

Once we had everything cleaned up and the body re-buried, Uncle Dean drove back to Evelyn's house. "Keep the motor running," Dad said, beginning to step out.

"I thought the painting was harmless now," Sarah said.

"Better safe than sorry," Dad said. "We're gonna bury the sucker."

"I'm going to come with you," Sarah said, already climbing out of the car.

"You sure?"

Sarah just gave him a look that said _Yes, yes I am sure. Question me again and I'll kick your ass_.

"Hey, hey, hey," Uncle Dean said, calling Dad back inside. "Liz and I'll stay here. You go make your move."

Dad just gave him an incredulous look before slamming the door shut. Just as Dad was stepping onto the porch, Uncle Dean turned up the radio loudly so that Dad and Sarah could hear. It was the main chorus of "Bad Time" by Grand Funk Railroad.

Dad was not amused. He motioned for Uncle Dean to turn it off. With some hesitancy, he did.

Uncle Dean and I sat in silence while Dad and Sarah go destroy the painting. We watched the house intently, as if waiting for something to happen.

That's when I felt it. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

I cursed loudly as I barged out of the Impala and up the porch steps. Surprisingly, Uncle Dean was on my heels, not even hesitating a second.

A little girl gave a murderous laugh and the door slammed shut on our faces.


	27. Never

**Chapter XXVII - Never**

Uncle Dean's phone rang loudly, or maybe my ears are just oversensitive right now. He answered it with a, "Please tell me you slammed the door." He paused as he listened to Dad say something. "What little girl?"

That's when I figured it out. That little girl's laugh I heard, it was from Isaiah's adopted daughter. I tried to think of her name, but the thought flew out of my brain.

"The dad was always looking down at her," Uncle Dean suggested, pulling out his lock pick kit from his jacket. "Maybe he was trying to warn us." Another few beats of silence and then, "Well, I'm trying to pick the lock but it won't budge." Uncle Dean stepped away from it in frustration. I was trying to formulate another plan of getting inside.

"I'll circle the house," I announced. "I'll yell if I find an entrance."

"More like exit," Uncle Dean muttered as I ran off the front porch and around towards the backyard. I checked the windows. None of them were open. I even tried lifting up on a few of them. No dice.

I began to panic. I could almost feel the little girl's presence. She advanced towards Dad and Sarah. Oh god, what if they can't stop her?

I grabbed a sizable rock and chucked it at a window. Despite my somehow-great aim, it just bounced back towards me with the same force. I dove towards the ground to avoid it. I felt onto the cement patio. My hands caught my fall, but they slid across the rough stone. I cringed as they began to sting. Already they began to bleed, tiny rocks embedded into my skin.

"Son of a bitch!" I cried, slowly standing up. So far, this rescue mission is crappy.

"Hey Liz!" Uncle Dean called out. "Come on! We need to go burn a doll!"

At first, I was confused. I ran back towards the car. Uncle Dean was already climbing in, putting the engine back into gear.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, climbing into the passenger side of the Impala. I barely had the door closed before Uncle Dean floored it and headed down the dirt path back towards the main road.

"It's the daughter who killed the family," Uncle Dean said. His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

"I figured that much, but how does a doll fit into this equation?"

"According to Sarah, back in the old days they used to make dolls with the child's real hair. Since she was cremated, this'll be the only way to destroy her."

"So we salt and burn the bones and then she should go into the light or whatever."

"She should."

"Well, you sound confident."

"Will you shut up, I'm driving!"

We broke the land speed record. The speedometer on the dash was way past the largest number. One false turn and we were dead and what will Dad and Sarah do if we die. They're screwed as well.

However, that was not a problem. Uncle Dean knew this car like he knew the back of his hand. Despite the unsafe speed, he controlled his baby as if he were cruising along the coastal highway at average speed.

"C'mon, c'mon," Uncle Dean kept muttering. The cemetery loomed into view. The gates were closed, but that didn't stop him from ramming into it with his precious. The rusty lock broke easily from the Impala's unearthly inertia. The breaks squealed as Uncle Dean stopped in front of the Merchant's mausoleum.

"Grab the shit. I'll get the doll." His words were coded, but I understood completely. He ran into the mausoleum and I opened the trunk of the Impala. The salt, gasoline and matches were already in a duffel from when we burned Isaiah's bones earlier.

"I can't fucking get the doll out of the case!" Uncle Dean cried, heading back towards the Impala with a sawed-off in hand.

I rolled my eyes. "Dude, you're holding a freaking gun."

Uncle Dean looked down at it and then back up at me. "Wow, I'm a dumbass." He ran back towards the mausoleum.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," I muttered. A few moments later, a gunshot reverberated around the silent cemetery. Uncle Dean came out with the fugly doll in hand.

He threw it on the ground. I poured the salt while Uncle Dean poured the gasoline. I grabbed the matches and struck one. Thanks to the wind, it immediately blew out.

"Shit," Uncle Dean shouted. He dug through his pockets until he found his Zippo. He had a hell of a time trying to set off a spark. I continued to try the matches. It was almost as if we were racing to see who got to save Dad's and Sarah's lives.

Uncle Dean won. He finally got the Zippo to keep a constant frame. He threw it at the doll, aiming more towards the hair. It was immediately ablaze. Smoke surrounded us and I began to cough ferociously.

Once the doll was nothing but a smoky pile of ash, Uncle Dean whipped out his phone and dialed up Dad's number. He put it on speaker phone so I could hear it as well.

It rang a few times. Each monotone ring made my heart ache more than the previous. It wasn't until I heard my father say, "Yeah," with a hoarse voice that I sighed in relief. I didn't even remember holding my breath in.

"You good?" Uncle Dean asked. Just two little words held so much power, it was scary. It was the difference between life and death.

After a few moments, Dad finally said, "Not bad."

Uncle Dean ended the call and the two of us headed back to the Impala. My legs felt like Jell-o. I'm surprised that I was even able to move.

He still sped back towards Evelyn's house. Although, not as break-neck as it was earlier. Once I came back to my senses, I began to feel again. The first thing I felt were my stinging hands. They were coated in blood. I was definitely going to have to take care of them later.

Once we got back to Evelyn's, Dad and Sarah were lying in the rubble. They were still pretty shaken from the attack. Dad seemed to be on the mend whereas Sarah looked like she would never recover from this.

I notice that happens to a lot of people.

"So, what do we do now?" Sarah asked.

"I don't know about you guys, but I am friggin' tired," Uncle Dean said, bluntly. "I say we worry about burning the friggin' painting tomorrow."

It was a unanimous vote.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

We slept in pretty late—then again, we didn't even get back to the motel until five in the morning. Dad offered to drive Sarah home, but both of them looked like they could pass out at any minute. So, Sarah took one of the beds, Uncle Dean took the other, Dad got the couch, and I was the loser who got to sleep on the floor.

According to a voicemail from Daniel on Sarah's phone, they already took care of Evelyn's place, grabbing the unbroken antiques within the house—including the portrait.

The moment Sarah walked into the auction house, she commanded two delivery guys to pack it up and go out back and burn it.

"So why'd the girl do it?" Sarah asked as the delivery guys carried the portrait away.

"Killing others—killing herself—some people are just born tortured," Dad said with a shrug of his shoulders. "So, when they die, their spirits are just as dark."

"I don't really care. It's done—it's over, we move on."

Sarah sighed at Uncle Dean's words. "I guess this means you are leaving."

Awkward silence crept up on us. Dad could not look at Sarah, but his eyes locked with Dean's. It was a silent exchange that said, "Could you give us a minute?" without having to say a word.

"We'll go wait in the car," Uncle Dean said. Without hesitancy, I followed him.

As we walked towards the exit, Uncle Dean muttered, "I burned the doll and destroyed the spirit, but don't thank me or anything."

"I distinctly remember this being a two person job," I said, crossing my arms. "Who was the one who suggested you shoot the glass?"

Uncle Dean glared at me. "Shut up!"

We leaned against the Impala and waited for Dad. He seemed to be taking forever. I ignored Uncle Dean's disgusting comments on how they were "getting it on on the antique furniture in there."

Eventually, the door opened and Dad stepped out. Sarah stood by the doorway a moment before closing it. The three of us turned towards the Impala, ready to head to the next town, the next hunt…

A hollow knock broke me from my thoughts. I turned around and watched as Sarah opened the door. Dad immediately leaned down and kissed her passionately. Even I could feel the heated chemistry from where I stood.

"That's my boy," Uncle Dean muttered as he climbed into the Impala.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The scenery blurred around us. We crossed over the New York/Pennsylvania border. Uncle Dean heard about some odd killings in Ohio. Many theories were tossed around, but we wouldn't be sure what we were dealing with until we got there.

Uncle Dean pulled the Impala into a rundown gas station. "You guys want anything?"

Both Dad and I shook our heads. Uncle Dean climbed out of the car and started filling up the gas tank. I was about to turn back to my computer, but Dad moved over to the driver side. He patted the passenger seat, looking at me expectantly.

"What?" I asked, confused on what was going on.

"Can you just come here, please?" Dad asked, still motioning towards the passenger seat.

I climbed out of the Impala. Uncle Dean gave me a confused look. I gave him a shrug that even I didn't know. He just went back to his business.

I sat down in the passenger seat and closed the door.

Dad sighed, buying time. "I feel like we should have a father/daughter moment," he said. "Especially, you know, with Sarah…"

I remained silent. I wanted him to do all the talking right now.

"I just wanted you to know that I will never forget you mother," Dad said, looking at the steering wheel and not at me. "But, like Dean said the night before, she'd want us to move on."

Silence…

"Will you please say something?"

I sighed deeply. "At first, I hated it. But, I could tell that you really like her, so I kept my mouth shut. I understood that what you and Sarah had was real and not just some chick you picked up at the bar. I still don't like it—but I don't hate it either."

Dad nodded. "I understand." He looked outside. By now, Uncle Dean was inside the store, studying the chip aisle intently. From his pockets, he pulled out a cassette tape. "I just hope that this cheers you up."

I was confused. Clapping filled the speakers. "_Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mambo number five_."

"Lou Bega? Really?" I asked as the opening tune started.

Dad shrugged. "We used to listen to this all the time when you were younger," he said. "It used to be our song."

"I don't remember us having a song," I commented.

"_One…two…three…four…five/Everybody in the car so come on let's ride to the liquor store…_"

"Every time you heard this you always started laughing," Dad said, smiling at the memory. "I remember when you heard it while you were taking a bath. You jumped out, dripping wet and completely naked, and started dancing around the apartment."

I felt my cheeks burn from embarrassment. "Did I really do that?"

Dad nodded.

We waited for the main chorus to start. Once it did, Dad and I started singing along—as loud as we possibly could and completely out of tune.

"_A little bit of Monica in my life_

_A little bit of Erica by my side_

_A little bit of Rita's all I need_

_A little bit of Tina's all I see_

_A little bit of Sandra in the sun_

_A little bit of Mary all night long…"_

When Lou said Mary, Dad dramatically pointed to me. I couldn't help but laugh. I didn't even remember when we started dancing along to it. My head was just lost in the moment I guess.

"_A little bit of Jessica here I am…"_

After hearing Jessica, Dad and I slowly stopped singing and dancing.

A knock on the window broke us from whatever trance Lou Bega put us in. A livid Uncle Dean stood outside the driver's side door, his arms crossed and his eyes glaring at us.

"That better not be Lou Bega I hear my baby playing! You better unlock this door right now or I'll—"

Dad turned up the music even louder. It drowned out Uncle Dean's fuming voice, but it did nothing on our uncontrollable laughter.


	28. Reunion

_Author's Note: I'm sorry for the lack of updates, but my computer decided to hate me. But, I'm back and Liz's story continues!_

**Chapter XXVIII - Reunion**

"Well…" Uncle Dean scanned the newspaper with an eagle eye. "Not a decent lead in all of Nebraska. What do you got?"

Dad typed away on his computer. For all intents and purposes, it was a typical pre-job ritual. We'd sit in a diner and search for a job. Sometimes we get lucky—other times we fall flat.

"Here a woman in Iowa fell ten-thousand feet from an airplane and survived," Dad suggested. It was better than the dittly-squat Uncle Dean came up with.

"That seems more like _That's Incredible_ and not _The Twilight Zone_," Uncle Dean commented.

"Yeah," Dad mumbled, already typing away on his laptop.

"You know, we could head back east. New York. Upstate. Stop by and see Sarah again. Huh?" Dad ignored him, but a smile was still on his face. It was obvious that he missed her. And, to be honest, I'm okay with that. After our bonding moment in the Impala with _Mambo Number 5_ playing in the background, I realized that Sarah was good for Dad. In a way, she helped him move past whatever feelings he had towards being "cursed." "She's a cool chick, man. Smokin'…" he whistled lowly. "You two seemed to be pretty friendly."

And now it is awkward.

"What do you say?"

"Yeah, maybe someday. Right now, we got a lot of work to do, Dean."

I have a feeling that Uncle Dean will never drop this Sarah business. It'll be a cold day in hell when he does.

"Yeah, alright," Uncle Dean muttered, visually not pleased with Dad's response. "What else you got?"

"In Colorado, a local man by the name of Daniel Elkins was found mauled at his home."

"Elkins…I know that name," Uncle Dean leaned back, contemplating the name.

"Doesn't ring a bell," Dad said. "The police don't know what to say. At first, they said that it was a bear attack and now they found signs of robbery."

While Dad went on about the job, Uncle Dean pulled out John's journal and went through it. Dad continued typing on his computer and my cell phone buzzed in my pocket. It was probably Lily updating me about life back in Palo Alto—not that I personally cared anymore.

"Hey, check it out," Uncle Dean said, passing the journal to Dad. I shifted closer to him so that I could take a look. There were a D. Elkins and a phone number written down in the journal.

"Do you think it's the same Elkins?" Dad asked.

"It's a Colorado area code."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I've always loved traveling through the Rocky Mountains. The snowcapped peaks and wild terrain just seemed so beautiful. I have only dreamed about skiing the Rockies. I would probably ski every day.

By nightfall, we made it to Daniel Elkins' place. Uncle Dean parked the Impala just outside the home. Dad looked back at me before climbing out. It was a silent command: wait here.

I sulked in the backseat, listening to my CD player. It blared "Defying Gravity" from _Wicked_. I lip synced along, since I could only dream about hitting those high notes. Stupid alto voice…

That's when I heard it—no, felt it. My music was loud enough that I could only hear my thoughts. I removed my headphones and peered outside. The wind rustled the trees and the fallen leaves, but I heard no other noise.

But I had a feeling that something was out there.

I pulled out a flashlight and the sawed-off Dad had official deemed mine. Most girls my age get make-up—I get a gun. But, whatever. I slowly opened the door and slipped out of the Impala.

The flashlight bounced off the trees as I headed towards the woods. Snow fell around me, sticking to my hair and bare arms. It was hard to tell if the shivers running down my back were from the cold or my psychic alarm going off. The closer I got, the stronger the feeling was. I felt bile rise to my throat.

I was deeper into the forest. Under the canopy of pine trees, hardly any snow fell to the ground in here. It was still cold—I could still see my breath. The flashlight beam shook with my hand as I tried to locate the beacon that was making my Spidey-senses go haywire.

A twig snapped. My heart jumped in panic. Slowly, I began to move again, taking cautious steps as I looked around the shadowy forest.

I saw a shadow pass by my peripheral.

"Liz?"

I screamed loudly, dropping my flashlight and gun. Dad and Uncle Dean stood in front of me, their flashlights pointing in my direction.

Dad rushed over to me. "Are you okay?"

I looked around. The feeling I had earlier was completely gone. Now, I was left with a weird dizziness that I couldn't explain. It felt like I climbed onto the tilt-a-whirl after eating too much carnival food.

"Liz?"

I was snapped back to reality. What was wrong with me? "Uh…I-I'm fine. I thought I heard something but I must have been wrong."

"Jesus, Liz," Dad cried, tugging off his jacket. "You're only in a t-shirt. You must be freezing."

I looked down at my arms. The tiny hairs were standing on end. The jacket that Dad draped around my shoulders did little to warm me up, but it did protect me from the snow and wind.

"Let's get back to the Impala," Uncle Dean suggested whilst picking up the flashlight and the sawed-off that I dropped. "I'm freezing my ass off and we need to check out that P.O. Box."

"What P.O. Box?" I asked as we walked to the Impala. Dad had a comforting arm around my shoulders. Maybe he was freaked out about what I had conspired. I know I am.

"Daniel Elkins had a P.O. Box," Uncle Dean explained. "We think that he might have something important in there."

"So, I'm guessing that Uncle Dean was right about this Elkins guy."

"Yes. As usual, I am right."

"Great," Dad muttered. "Now his head is even bigger. Thanks, Liz."

"Anything to help."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

We headed back into the main part of town. Dad and Uncle Dean waltzed into the post office and fiddled with one of the boxes. Once it was open, they pulled out a single envelope. From inside the car, I could not see what it said, but the shocked look on their faces means that it must be something big—really big.

They walked back into the car. "J.W. Do you think it's for Dad?"

I looked at the envelope. It only had a send to address that said J.W. and then the rest of the address for the P.O. Box.

"I dunno. Do you think we should open it?"

A knock on the glass sent us all screaming (I'm pretty sure the high-pitched one was Uncle Dean). We all turned to the source of the pounding. A gruff looking man smiled at us—more in a loving manner rather than I-want-to-eat-your-brains-out.

"Dad," Dad muttered in disbelief. Sure enough, John Winchester stood at the window, beaming down at us.

Without another word, John—Grandpa? I still don't know what to call him—opened the back door and started to climb in. I had to move my messenger bag before he could sit on it.

"Dad, what are you doing here? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Look, I read the news about Daniel. I got out here as fast as I could. I saw you two up at his place and I was probably the one you heard." That last statement was meant for me. I turned towards my window so that neither of them saw me blush. That definitely was not one of my most crowning moments. But, what doesn't make sense was how my psychic receptors went off for him.

"Why didn't you come in?" Dad asked.

"You know why. I had to make sure you weren't followed by anyone…or anything." He let his words hang in the air for a little bit before saying, "Nice job of covering your tracks."

"Yeah, well…we learned from the best." Uncle Dean was really laying it on thick at this point.

"Wait," Dad said, "so you came all the way out here for this Elkins guy?"

John nodded. "Yeah, he was a good man. He taught me a helluva lot about hunting."

"You never mentioned him to us."

"We had…we had kind of a falling out. I hadn't seen him in years." John motioned towards the envelope in Uncle Dean's hands. "I should read that."

Uncle Dean handed it over to John, who immediately opened it up and began to read it. If it were anyone else in the world other than John, I would have looked over his shoulder to read it. However, I was not going to get anywhere near the alligator's mouth.

But, I didn't need to read it over his shoulder. He read it out loud for the rest of us to know what it's about. "_If you are reading this, I am already dead_." Well, isn't that a great way to begin a heartfelt letter to a friend. "Son of a bitch! He's still got it."

"What?" Dad asked, confused on what his father was suddenly rambling on about.

"When you guys searched the place, did you find a gun?" John asked, looking between Dad and Uncle Dean. They just stared blankly at him. "An antique—a Colt revolver."

"There was an old case, but it was empty," Uncle Dean said, sounding genuinely scared for his life.

"They have it," John muttered, barely above a whisper.

"You mean whatever killed Elkins?"

"We gotta pick up their trail," John commanded, ignoring Uncle Dean's question. John climbed out of the Impala.

"Wait, you want us to come with you?" Dad asked as Uncle Dean unrolled the window.

"If Elkins was telling the truth, we gotta find that gun."

"A gun? Why?"

"Because it's important, that's why."

"Dad, we don't even know what these things are yet," Dad argued.

"They are what Elkins killed best. Vampires."

John's words hung in the air a long time before Uncle Dean muttered, "Vampires? I thought there was no such thing."

"You've never even mentioned them, Dad."

"I thought they were extinct," John said. "I thought Elkins and others had wiped them out." He sighed deeply and admitted something that, according to Dad, he would never admit, "I was wrong."

"Most vampire lore is crap. The cross won't compel them, the sunlight won't kill them nor will a stake to the heart. Now the bloodlust, that much it true—they need human blood to survive. They look like people, so you won't know it's a vampire until it's too late…."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

John followed us back to the motel in his truck. All the way back, no one spoke a word. It seems that John's sudden presence stunned everyone into silence, not just me.

Once there, it was clear who was in charge of the situation: Commander John Winchester. He told the three of us to go to bed and that he'll keep an eye on the police scanners (something neither of us had ever thought of using before). Uncle Dean and I complied (mainly because I was tired as hell), but Dad glared at John before following orders as well.

It couldn't have been more than a couple of hours later that John was waking the three of us up.

"What?" Uncle Dean moaned.

"Picked up a police call," John said, shrugging his jacket on. "Couple called 9-1-1 about a body in the street. When they got there, everyone was missing. It was the vampires."

"How do you know?" Dad asked, slowly crawling out of his bed.

"Just…follow me, okay?"

Dad and Uncle Dean looked at each other for a moment before they, too, shrugged their jackets on. "Okay, Liz," Dad said, "stay here. I'll keep you—"

"No, I want all hands on deck."

I sat up on my cot. I looked between Dad and John, debating which order I should follow: the one I want to (Dad's=sleep) or the one I should (John's=work).

"She's only thirteen, Dad."

"I realize that, Sam. But when I say all hands on deck then I want all hands on deck. No exceptions."

"But—"

"Sam!" Uncle Dean warned. Apparently he was also sick of the bickering between Dad and John. "Just, c'mon Liz."

Grumbling a few chosen swear words, I followed the three men (and I use the term loosely) out into the parking lot. John led the way to the location that was said on the scanner. I tried to catch at least a little bit more sleep, but the bumpy road had other plans—namely a headache.

Once we made it to the location, John climbed out of his truck and headed towards the hordes of police cars with a purpose. Dad and Uncle Dean went to follow him, but he commanded them to stay there.

I stayed in the car. There was no way I was going to get in the middle of world war three.

"I don't see why we couldn't have gone with him," Dad said, crossing his arms and leaning against the hood of the Impala.

"Please don't tell me this thing is starting again," Uncle Dean said.

Moments later, John reappeared. "It's them alright," he said, meaning the vampires. "They're heading west. We'll have to double back to get past the detour."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Sam!"

"I just want to know that we are going in the right direction."

"We are."

"How can you be so sure?"

John pulled something out of his pocket. Since I was in the car, I couldn't see what it was, but it must've been important.

"A vampire fang," Uncle Dean noted.

"No fangs. Teeth. The second set descends when they attack." John looked up at Dad. "Any more questions?" Even I could translate that from English to Winchester: I dare you to question me again.

When Dad remained silent, John said, "Alright. Let's get out of here. We're losing daylight. And Dean, why don't you touch up your car? I wouldn't have given you the damn thing if I had known you were going to ruin it."

If this was how it's starting out, today is going to be a _very_ long day.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

It is official: Hell just froze over. Not only does John want help from us, but Dad is also driving the Impala and Uncle Dean is doing research. I expect Rod Serling's voice to appear out of nowhere and announce a new episode of _The Twilight Zone_.

"Vampire's nest—eight-to-ten—smaller groups are sent out to hunt for food—brings them back to the nest where they keep them alive for days and even weeks." Uncle Dean put the book down and turned to Dad. "I wonder if that's what happened to the 9-1-1 couple."

"It's probably what Dad's thinking," Dad replied, his knuckles completely white against the steering wheel. "It'd be nice if he just told us what he thinks…"

Uncle Dean looked at Dad incredulously. "So, it is starting."

"What?"

"Sam, we have been looking for Dad all year. It's been more than a couple of hours and there's static already."

"No," Dad said. "Okay, look. I'm glad that he is safe and I'm happy that we are all working together again…."

That was the calm before the storm.

"It's just like the way he treats us—like we're children. He barks orders at us, Dean. He expects us to follow him without question. He keeps us on this shit need-to-know deal."

"He does what he does for a reason."

"What's that?"

"Our job! There's no room for argument. There is no margin for error. That's just the way the old man runs things."

"You know, maybe that worked when we were kids but not anymore. Alright, not after everything we have been through. I mean, are you cool with him drawing in line and running the whole show?"

Uncle Dean was silent for a moment before saying, "If that's what it takes."

Dad looked like he was going to argue that point. Instead, he turned his attention back to the road ahead of him. Somehow, it blows all logic, but his knuckles seemed to be whiter now.

We drove for the rest of the day in a tense silence. We never listened to the radio—I never pulled out my laptop and the only time the silence was broken was when Uncle Dean sneezed.

It was the longest day of my life.

When the sun was completely set on the horizon, Uncle Dean's cell phone went off. He answered it and never spoke a word until he said, "Yes sir," and hung up. "Pull up at the next exit."

"Why?" Dad asked. It was obvious that he hasn't cooled down at all in the tense silence.

"Because Dad thinks that he has the vampire's trail."

"How?" Dad's voice was, somehow, more antagonistic. It seems that we are breaking the parameters of reality a lot today and it is only the beginning.

"I dunno. He didn't say."

Dad sped up the Impala, pushing its limits. He breezed by John. I made the mistake of looking at him as we did so. His face was a mixture of confusion and anger—mostly anger.

Dad violently pulled the Impala to the side of the road. John's truck was within inches of that. As Dad climbed out of the Impala, I realized that shit just got real.

"What the fuck was that, Sam?" John shouted, barreling towards the Impala.

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

"About everything!"

"Stay here," Uncle Dean said to me. He didn't need to tell me twice. I sunk more into the seat so that I would stay hidden. Yes, I was genuinely afraid for my life. I'd rather deal with an onslaught of monsters than Sam and John Winchester at this point.

"Where are we going Dad? What is the big deal about this gun?"

Uncle Dean rushed out of the Impala, hoping to calm the enemy forces. "Sammy!" he warned, which went unheard by the North and the South. "We can Q and A after we kill all the vampires."

"You're brother's right. We don't have time for this."

"Last time we saw you, you said that you didn't need our help. Now, out of the blue, you need our help. Obviously something big is going down and we want to know what."

"Get back in the car, Sam," John demanded, eerily calm in demeanor.

"No."

"I said get back in the damn car." John's voice is what I'd like to call shouting without raising his voice. Dad used to do that a lot when I was a kid, but the message was all the same, whether it was piano or forte.

"Yeah, and I said no."

"Okay," Uncle Dean said, "you made your point, tough guy. Look, we are all tired; we can talk about this later." He grabbed the front of Dad's shirt and pulled him back to the Impala. "Now, come on!"

The two of them were practically on top of the car when Dad said, barely above a whisper, "And that's why I left."

"What did you say?" John questioned, his voice creeping into a more powerful voice.

And they were at it again like cats and dogs. No, cats and dogs are too tame. More like Donald Trump versus Rosie O'Donnell.

"You heard me!"

"Yeah, you left. But me and your brother: we needed you. But you walked away, Sam—YOU WALKED AWAY!"

"STOP IT! BOTH OF YOU!"

"YOU WERE THE ONE WHO SAID DON'T COME BACK, DAD! YOU CLOSED THAT DOOR! NOT ME! YOU WERE JUST PISSED OFF THAT YOU COULDN'T CONTROL ME ANYMORE!"

I began to grow sick of what was going on out there. I don't even remember crawling out of the Impala in order to help Uncle Dean push the opposing forces. I don't remember what was said—quite a few f-bombs, some even from me. But, eventually, Dad went back into the Impala and John went back to his truck, leaving Uncle Dean and I standing in the cold.

"This definitely is a family reunion from hell," I muttered.

"Couldn't agree with you more."


	29. Stronger

**Chapter XXIX - Stronger**

Thanks to my inability to read a map and lack of street signs, I didn't know where we were. All I know was that we were west of wherever we were, since that is what direction John said that we were going in.

After all night of traveling, Dad and John finally cooled off enough that they can finally work together for one common goal: kill the vampires and get the gun that John is freaking out about—even though we had no clue why it was more important than any other gun in the secret compartment of the Impala.

The four of us were hidden behind a tangle of dead branches. We watched as a vampire (I'm merely guessing that he's a vampire) pulled up to an old barn. Another vampire (again, speculating) was out to greet the new arrival. The two of them disappeared into the barn moments later.

"Son of a bitch," Uncle Dean muttered. "They really aren't afraid of the sun, are they?"

"Direct sun hurts like a nasty sunburn," John explained. "The only way to kill them is by beheading. And, yeah, they sleep during the day, but that doesn't mean they won't wake up."

"So, walking right in isn't our best option," Uncle Dean said.

"Actually…that's the plan."

We walked back to our cars. Uncle Dean opened up the secret weapons compartment just below the trunk.

"We have an extra machete if you need it, Dad," Uncle Dean offered, extending the better of the three that we have. But, one look at John's decked out toolbox in the back of his truck said otherwise.

"I think I'm covered, thanks," he said, checking that his own blade was up to Winchester-grade.

Uncle Dean shrugged and, to Dad's disdain, handed the extra machete to me. I guess that John's command that "all hands on deck" also meant that I was, apparently, signing up for battle. It's not like I haven't been trained (to an extent) how to wield a machete, but probably not up to par.

As I hooked it onto my belt, Dad said, "Remember, attack to injure, not kill."

"That's a shitty lesson, Sam," John noted. "You should always shoot to kill."

"Oh, so now you're criticizing how I'm raising _my_ kid."

"Hey you two," Uncle Dean warned. "Can we focus on the blood-suckers in that barn and worry about ethics of child-raising later?"

Silently, we went back to preparing our weapons. Out of nowhere, John sighed and looked up at us. "So, do you really want to know more about this Colt?"

Surprisingly, Dad answered in a civil, non-hostile manner. "Yes sir."

"It's just a story," he began. "A legend, really…well, I thought it was. Never really believed it until I read Daniel's letter."

"Back in 1835, when Haley's Comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo—you see, Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun—fit for a hunter. One like us, only for horseback."

"The story goes, he made thirteen bullets. This hunter used the gun half-a-dozen times before he disappeared—the gun along with him. Until, somehow, Daniel got his hands on it."

"They say…they say this gun can kill anything."

His words resided in our forethoughts for a long while. A gun that could kill anything…that's pretty heavy.

Of course, Uncle Dean was still skeptical. "Kill anything like supernatural anything."

"Like the demon…"

"Yeah, the demon….Ever since I picked up its trail, I've been looking for a way to destroy that thing. Find the gun…we may have it."

This was what they have been looking for since Grandma was killed almost thirty-one years ago. I might have joined later in the game, but that doesn't mean that my drive to destroy this thing is any less than the others.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The four of us climbed and old, rickety ladder to the barn's attic. John crawled through the window first. He went ahead, not even waiting for the rest of us.

Next was Dad, then me and then Uncle Dean took up the rear. The silent plan was to keep me between the two of them. Just because I was here to help doesn't mean that they planned on letting me help, no matter what John said.

We hopped off the hay and looked around the room. We were surrounded by vampires asleep on hammocks. I felt bile rise to my throat. For once, it was my psychic abilities going off. It's just freaky being near so many sleeping monsters. They didn't even look vicious—they looked just so…human.

Dad grabbed my wrist. _Stay close_ the silent touch commanded. I gladded followed him as we crept our way through the maze of hammocks. I had no clue where we were going. I was only focused on the back of Dad's head and where it was located.

We made it to the center of the room where a woman, who couldn't have been more than twenty-five or so, was tied up to a support beam. It was hard to tell if she was knocked out or sleeping. I personally hoped she was knocked out. It would be easier sneaking her out if there wasn't chance that she'll freak out at us.

As quietly as he could, Dad motioned for Uncle Dean to come over to us. Dad went about untying the captive while Uncle Dean went exploring over by the cage. I kinda just stood there, not really knowing what to do.

Uncle Dean found a way to unlock the cage, except it created a loud(ish) _clinking_ sound. We waited for impossibly long moments, watching to see if any of the vampires were waking. It was only sleeping bodies who shifted positions.

As Dad undid the ropes, the woman began to stir. She began to moan. "Hey, hey, we're going to get you out of here," Dad said, working more quickly to get her wrists free.

The woman let out an inhuman shriek that made me fall back. Around us, vampires rose from their hammocks, searching for the source of the noise.

It was four of us against at least fifty of them. The odds were definitely not in our favor.

"RUN!" Dad shouted and the three of us bolted for the nearest exit, barely staying a step ahead of the vampires that were after us.

We shoved our way out of the barn and, even though we were semi-safe in the sunlight, we still kept booking it until we reached the cars up on the hill.

We looked around, hoping to find any source of John following us. Only silence greeted our calls. As the adrenaline started to calm down, panic rose within us. What if the vampires had gotten him?

Soon, a brown blur that almost matched with the scenery around it came barreling our way. John didn't stop running until he was next to us.

"They won't follow," John said, once he realized that we were now advancing towards the cars. "They'll wait until tonight. Once a vampire gets your scent, it's for life."

"What the hell do we do now?" Uncle Dean asked.

"We find the nearest funeral home, that's what."

Well, isn't that just roses and daisies.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"I should go help," Dad said, after a few minutes of pacing back and forth in the cabin we were renting. I had no idea what Uncle Dean was doing, since, as usual; I was out of the loop. I was just told to do my schoolwork so I did just that—anything to get me out of any awkward conversation that might arise between Dad and John.

"Dean's got it," John said, slouching over some ancient texts. He was probably trying to find more information about vampires or something—maybe even more information on that Colt.

Dad continued to walk woodenly around the cabin as if he was afraid that sitting down would be looked down upon by John.

"Sammy…"

Dad froze in the middle of the cabin. It was hard to tell what he was expecting John to say—certainly it wasn't his well-hated nickname. However, unlike Dean, Dad didn't call him out on it. Instead, he said, "Yeah."

"I don't think I ever told you this," John began. "The day you were born, you know what I did?"

Dad gave him a confused look. "No."

"I put a hundred bucks in a savings account for you. I did the same thing for your brother….It was a college fund and every month I'd put in another hundred until…" he didn't need to elaborate beyond that. Dad and I (even though I felt like I was eavesdropping) understood what John meant. "Anyway, my point is, Sam, is that…this is never the life I wanted for you."

"Then why'd you get so mad when I left?"

"You gotta understand something. After your mother past, all I saw was evil…everywhere. And all I cared about was keeping you boys alive. I wanted you prepared—ready. Somewhere along the line, I stopped being your father and became your drill sergeant."

Dad slowly approached the desk that John sat behind, his movements unsure and cautious.

"All I thought when you left was that you were going to be alone…vulnerable. Sammy, it's just…it never occurred to me what you wanted. I just couldn't accept the fact that you and me…we're just different."

Dad laughed dryly at John's words.

"What?"

"We're not different," Dad said. "Not anymore. With what happened to Mom and Jess…I think we have more in common than just about anyone."

"I guess you're right, son," John said. "And, I'm damn proud of you."

"How?"

"Despite everything, you managed to have a family. You married the girl of your dreams, had a wonderful daughter," for some reason, I began to panic when he mentioned me, "and, even though it was just a fleeting moment, you had a great life."

"Yeah, I guess I did."

I had many snide remarks (mostly at my expense and the whole "wonderful daughter" thing), but I kept my mouth shut—not wanting to ruin the closest thing to a father-son moment Dad and Joh-Grandpa ever had.

"Hey Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I was just wondering…whatever happened to that college fund?"

John smiled. "Spent it on ammo."

The three of us laughed as Uncle Dean waltzed into the cabin. "Whew," he grumbled, "they have a bunch of security protecting a bunch of dead guys."

"Did you get it," John asked. From his pockets, Uncle Dean produced a glass canister full of blood. My stomach roiled when I realized that it must have been dead man's blood. It was obviously important and it most likely had something to do with the vampires—that much was obvious

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Dad, Grandpa and I remained in the shadows as we watched Uncle Dean lean over the hood of the Impala, which had "car troubles." I couldn't hear the conversation, but a she-vampire appeared from nowhere behind Uncle Dean, a burly, bodyguard vamp behind her. Dad and Grandpa had crossbows pointed right at them, ready to strike at a seconds notice.

Once the vampire got a little physical and started making out with Uncle Dean (ugh, really?), that's when Dad and Grandpa fired the crossbows simultaneously. It was pretty odd how in sync they were at this point.

The three of us walked out of the shadows and into the street. "Doesn't even sting," the she-vampire announced, giving us a disappointed look.

"You're in for a good time, sweetheart," John said. "The arrow's soaked in dead man's blood. That's kind of like poison to you, isn't it?"

As if on cue, she collapsed into Uncle Dean's arms.

"Load her up," John commanded. "I'll take care of this one."

He pulled out his machete and swung it with the speed and grace of an experienced hunter. It went through the vampire's neck like butter. His head went flying off and blood flowed everywhere.

One would think I'd be used to this by now. I have seen headless people before, but it makes a huge difference when it is witnessed and not just surveying the aftermath.

In the woods, we started a fire. Grandpa rattled off about some sort of voo-doo (sorry, _hoo-doo_) thing that was supposed to mask our scents from the other vampires. I had no clue what was in it—I didn't recognize a single ingredient he mentioned.

I just know that it stinks.

"Dust your clothes with the ashes," John said. Of course I chose tonight to wear one of my favorite pairs of jeans (am I really worrying about that right now?)

"Are you sure they'll come after her?" Dad asked, motioning towards the female vampire that we had tied up against the tree.

"I'm sure of it," John answered. "Vampires mate for life. She means more to the leader than the gun." Wow, so far vampires have more morals than many people. That's pretty sad. "The sickness is going to wear off soon. We don't have a lot of time."

"Half hour outta do it," Dad said.

"And I want you out of the area as fast as you can."

"What?"

"Dad," Uncle Dean said, "you can't take care of them all by yourself."

"Oh, I'll hurt them and get the Colt."

"But after, we're going to meet up, right?" Dad asked. When Grandpa was silent, Dad added, "Use the gun _together_, right?" Again, Grandpa remained silent. "You're leaving again, aren't you? You still want to go after the demon alone? You know, I don't get you. You can't treat us like this."

"Like what?"

"Like children."

"You are my children. I'm trying to keep you safe."

"With all due respect, but…uh, that's a bunch of crap."

I did a double take. Uncle Dean was actually questioning Grandpa's orders.

"Excuse me?"

"We've been hunting, Dad. Hell, you've sent on us a few hunting trips ourselves. You can't be too concerned about our safety."

"It's not the same thing, Dean."

"Then what is it? Why do you want us out of the big fight?"

"This demon…is a bad son of a bitch. I can't make the same moves if I'm worried about keeping you alive."

"You can't be as reckless."

"I don't expect to make it out of this fight in one piece. Your mother's death…it almost killed me. I can't watch my children die too. I won't."

"What if you die? What if you die and we could have done something about it? You know, I've been thinking about it. I think Sammy's right. We need to do this together. We need to do this as a family. We're stronger as a family, Dad, and you know it."

"We're running out of time. You do your job and you get out of the area. That's an order."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The plan, according to Grandpa, was supposed to be fool proof. Trade the Colt with the vampire and then get the hell out of dodge—well, for Dad, Uncle Dean and I anyway. Dad and Uncle Dean headed back to the barn to release all of the other captives. I stayed in the woods with a crossbow trained on the vampire leader while Grandpa did the trade. Only shoot if things got out of control.

Then again, he had no idea we were here. We were improvising a new plan since we knew in that Winchester bad luck would rule out and John's plan would fail miserably.

The hoo-doo ashes thing (well, I'm debating whether it is hoo-doo or just good old fashioned protective magic) masked my scent so no vampires strayed my way. That was the only reason why I here for back-up alone.

I watched as the trade unfolded. The leader placed the gun down on the street in front of Grandpa and the vampire hostage. He backed up. But what Grandpa didn't factor in was the she-vampire sweating off the dead man's blood as quickly as she did. Soon enough, John was pinned and I didn't hesitate to the fire the crossbow.

I shot off three arrows in rapid succession, but that was all I was given. Dad and Uncle Dean planned on getting back in time to help out in case a fight did break loose.

And, as usual, they predicted wrong.

So, I did the next best thing: I pulled out my machete and ran towards the action. Of course, I didn't last long. Just as I was about to swing the machete at the vampire leader's neck, he grabbed my wrist and spun my arm around. The pain was agonizing and I was forced to release the weapon. He wrapped me up into a choke hold, keeping a strong hold on my chin. His arm was completely around my neck and he was choking me. I could barely breathe. It felt like my lungs were going to explode.

It was hard to tell when Dad and Uncle Dean showed up. I just remember the vampire who had me trapped commanded them to stop or else he would break my neck.

The threat was strong enough that the two of them lowered their machetes. Framed in fuzzy blackness, all I could see was Dad's pain filled eyes as he saw me like this. I was definitely in for some serious scolding for going into the fight unprepared like this.

Dad and Uncle Dean dropped their weapons, which clanged against the pavement. "What is with you?" the leader asked. "Why can't you just leave us alone? We have as much of a right to live as you do!"

"I'd beg to differ," John announced. The leader whipped around, his grip around my neck tighter. If he strengthened his hold even just minutely, my throat would most likely collapse from the weight.

Please have a plan, Gramps.

A shot rang through the night. I didn't realize what happened until I felt to the ground, coughing up a long. Next to me, the vampire leader was dead with a bullet wound in the middle of his forehead. That's when I realized that John had used the Colt to save my life.

The remaining vampires ran off—probably to save themselves. The four of us just stood here just looking at each other. Well, my focus was still on the ground and in controlling my breathing.

Wordlessly, John climbed into his truck and drove off. Dad helped me up and the three of us climbed into the Impala. Not quite sure what to do, we headed back to the cabin.

"How does your throat feel?" Dad asked once we were halfway there. He sat in the back with me to assess the damage. And he complains about Uncle Dean being a mother hen?

"Hurts like hell," I grumbled, my voice sounding like a prepubescent male—very low with odd squeaks in it.

"Yeah, that certainly won't be a pretty bruise," Dad said, gently prodding at the tender flesh. I hid my winces of pain that it caused.

"How come it seems like I'm always the one to get injured?" I asked.

"Probably from your lack of experience," Dad said. "This is another reason why I hate it when you get caught up in these kinds of messes."

"That or it's just my luck—or lack of."

"Hey, quit talking. You're only making it worse."

"So, on a scale of one to ten, how dead are we?" Uncle Dean asked.

"At least an eleven—maybe twelve," Dad muttered.

Once we were back at the cabin, Dad placed an insta-icepack on my neck and made me laid down on the bed with no pillow for comfort. It's to help with my breathing, apparently. John hadn't arrived back yet. He had either bolted with the Colt or just needed a few moments to collect his thoughts before he rips us a new one for disobeying his orders.

Dad and Uncle Dean went about packing. Whether or not that we leave with Grandpa, we were definitely getting away from here as soon as possible. No way were we going to stay anywhere remotely close to the vampires who were most likely planning revenge as we speak.

It was a little while later that Grandpa came back. I sat up, despite the glare I received from Dad. I decided not to be a coward and take whatever Grandpa was going to dish out lying down. "You boys disobeyed a direct order back there."

I guess he forgot that I have an X chromosome, not just two Ys.

"Yes," Uncle Dean muttered.

John sighed. "You were right."

Uncle Dean was taken aback. "It scares the hell outta me. You three are all I've got. But I guess we are stronger as a family."

"So, we go after this thing…together."

"Yes sir," the three of us said simultaneously.


	30. Vow

**Chapter XXX - Vow**

Our current residence was demon-hunting headquarters. There were weather maps, articles and all sort of other documentation covering the walls. If there was even a sniff of demon activity anywhere in the United States, then it was placed upon the walls and figured into the equation.

It was all so confusing to me. Dad explained to me how a demons "mojo" was so powerful that it can alter the world's weather patterns. They might be to blame for a tornado and Grandpa is even wholeheartedly set that demon activity was the cause of Hurricane Katrina.

"So, this is it," John said. "It's everything I know. Look, our whole lives have been searching for this demon and not a trace just nothing until about a year ago. It was the first time I picked up a trail."

"You took off," Uncle Dean noted.

"That's right. The demon must have come out of hiding or hibernation."

"Alright, so what's this trail you found?"

"At first it was Arizona, then New Jersey…California." My heart sank at the mere mention of California, and John could tell that it affected Dad and me. He continued on quickly. "Houses burned down to the ground. It's going after families just like it went after us."

"Families with infants."

"Yes, the night of their sixth month birthday."

Dad gave a slight nod. He fit the pattern, but there was something else that was bugging.

"But, Mom's death breaks the pattern," I said, surprising myself that I spoke up. For the most part, I was just silently observing.

"That's true," Grandpa agreed. "But, I have a theory about that."

"What?" Uncle Dean asked.

"I think it has something to do either with Sam or Liz or both of you."

"But, why would the demon go after us again?" Dad questioned.

"Yeah, and on some random day in November."

"It wasn't random," Grandpa said. "It was on November 2."

"The anniversary of Mom's death," Uncle Dean said. "Well, at least it was on Sam's sixth month birthday thirty years later."

"So, maybe it is about Dad and not me," I said. "I mean, if it was after me, wouldn't it have done something on my sixth month birthday?"

"Wait, when's your birthday?"

"July 31st."

"So that means your sixth month birthday would be on January 31st." Grandpa turned his full attention to Dad. "Did anything happen that night?"

Dad sighed. "I highly doubt it. You could say I was overly paranoid and kept an eye on her all night that night. If anything was going to happen, I would have stopped it."

I was touched and slightly creeped out that Dad would do something like that for me. I was willing to bet money that he stayed up all night just to make sure I was safe.

"Hold on," Uncle Dean said. "Didn't the demon say that he had plans for you two?"

"Wait, when would he have said that?"

That's when I realized that we left out a crucial detail about this entire thing: I had ran into the demon the night Mom was killed.

"When Mom died that night, I ran into her room and the demon…he was there."

"Why wasn't I aware of this before?" Grandpa growled, obviously angry that we left that bit of information out.

The three of us remained silent. We had no other reason except we completely forgot about that until now.

John sighed, trying to control his anger. "Look, what else did the demon do? Did he say anything to you?"

"He said that he had plans," I said, shaking as I relived the memory in almost perfect detail. I don't remember a lot of the information, so I just relayed when I remembered. "He also said that when his "children" tried to have kids that he made sure that it didn't happen. He said that…that I was an experiment."

"So what?" Uncle Dean grumbled. "This demon decided that you're special and made you his living breathing science project?"

"Sounds like it," I sighed, the idea of it making me sick.

"So," Dad said, "Mom's death and Jess's death could be my fault."

"We don't know that, Sam."

"Yeah, it could be my fault for all we know."

"It ain't nobody's fault except for that fucking demon," Dean growled.

"But, I heard what it said," I shouted. "I heard it practically say it was because of Dad and me."

"I don't give a flying rat's ass what the demon said. It's not your faults that this shit is happening."

"Stop," John commanded, oddly calm. "That's enough."

Silence filled the room as the four of us looked at each other. I leaned up against the headboard. I could barely handle the situation anymore. This was all too much to handle right now. I just…I just want this to be over.

Dad was the one to break the silence. "So, why's it doing it? What does it want?" His voice was exasperated, as if he was holding his breath before he asked the questions.

"I wish I had more answers—I do. But I've always stayed one step behind this thing. Look, I've never been there in time to save…" he tapered off, unable to finish his statement.

"Alright, so, how do we find it?" Uncle Dean asked.

John stood up from his desk. He walked around to the front of it and leaned against it, crossing his arms with wooden motions. "There're signs," he said. "Look, it took me a while to see a pattern. But, before these fires, signs would crop up in an area. Cattle deaths, temperature fluctuations, electrical storms…and I looked back and…"

"And these things happened in Lawrence," Uncle Dean finished for him.

John nodded. "A week before you mother died." He turned to Dad and me. "And in Palo Alto…before Jessica. And these signs are starting again."

The air was heavy with Grandpa's words. Everything seemed to freeze. The four of us just looked at each other, trying to figure out what to do—figure out what to say.

"Where?" Dad asked, abruptly standing from leaning against the window. He looked Grandpa in the eyes as he awaited the answer.

"Salvation, Iowa."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

The car ride there was long and fairly boring. I couldn't get myself to focus on my homework and even books couldn't help me escape from reality. I listened to my CD player (I still haven't enough money saved up to by an MP3 player) until it died. So, I settled listening to whatever Uncle Dean decided to play.

We passed a sign that said "Now Entering Salvation, Iowa" when John decided to pull over. It was odd, since we all agreed to get a motel and work out a strategy from there.

We all climbed out of our respected vehicles. Grandpa looked pissed—very pissed. If looks could kill, the entire state of Iowa would be flattened by Grandpa alone.

"Shit," he growled.

"What it is?" Uncle Dean asked.

"Son of a bitch!" he shouted, slamming his fist into his truck. "I just got a call from Caleb."

"Is he fine?" Uncle Dean asked before I could even ask who that is.

"Yeah, he is….Jim Murphy's dead."

"Pastor Jim?" Dad asked, a look of utter disbelief on his face.

The only answer he got from Grandpa was a slight nod.

"How?"

Grandpa sighed. "Throat was slashed…he bled out…"

Pastor Jim must have been close to them, guessing by the heartbroken looks all three of them had. I just kept my head down to hide my confusion. This was not the time to be asking questions.

"Caleb said that they found traces of sulfur at his place."

"A demon," Uncle Dean muttered. John's expression darkened. "_The _demon?"

"I dunno," John admitted. "Could be. He got careless and slipped up. Maybe…maybe the demon knows we're getting close."

"What do you want to do?" Uncle Dean asked. His jaw was clenched. It seems that he was angrier now than sad.

"Now, we act like every second counts. There're two hospitals and a health center in this country. We split up and cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant who is six months old within the next week."

"That could mean dozens of kids," Dad noted. "How the hell are we supposed to know which one is the right one?"

"We'll check them all, that's how. You got any better ideas." Grandpa had a tone of warning in his voice: even if we did, we better keep it to ourselves.

Even Dad didn't question it. "No sir."

In silent agreement, we started to climb into the vehicles. Grandpa turned away from us, his shoulders shaking.

"Dad?" Uncle Dean called, a shadow of worry crossing his face.

"Yeah," Grandpa grumbled. He turned back towards us, a pained look in his eyes. "It's Jim," he admitted. "You know, I can't…" He was lost for words and my heart ached for him. My first assumptions were correct: Pastor Jim and he must've been more than just hunting partners—they had to have been friends. This, since this was John Winchester we were dealing with, made me surprised. "This ends _now_. I'm ending it. I don't care what it takes." He headed back into his truck. Dad, Uncle Dean and I wordlessly climbed into the Impala. Uncle Dean immediately turned off the music and followed John down the road. Grandpa's words continued to echo in my head.

"_This ends now!"_

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Uncle Dean dropped Dad off at one of the hospitals and the two of us continued to the health center. Since I was only a teenager, there was no way I could do the research and not be asked a million and one questions. Uncle Dean handed me a ten and told me to go get him a coffee from somewhere in town.

It felt good to just walk around—to clear my head. I found a coffee place fairly quickly. I got two—one for me and one for him. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't mind. At the very least he'd make me pay him back.

Once I got back to the Impala, Uncle Dean was waiting for me. "Dad already got a motel room," Uncle Dean said. "We're going to go pick up Sam and then head there."

I nodded, not even bothered that he didn't thank me for the coffee, but relieved when he didn't question why I bought myself one.

Uncle Dean had just pulled out of the parking lot when my head felt like it was about to explode. It came so suddenly that I dropped my coffee in agony.

It was suddenly nighttime and I was in a nursery—I little girl's I'm guessing by the ballerina nightlight and the pale pink walls. Dad must be having a vision and my psychic abilities decided to kick in just then.

A cute little baby was asleep in her crib. She looked so peaceful, listening to the clock on the wall go _tick-tock_, _tick-tock_…at least, until it abruptly stopped.

The windows were suddenly open, the cold wind making the curtains fly about. The mobile above the baby's crib spun around, creating all sort of noise. The temperature instantly dropped at least twenty degrees and I had a feeling it wasn't just because of the breeze coming in.

Out of the shadows, a man appeared. I can only guess that it was the demon. He leaned over the crib, watching the baby intently. I couldn't see what he was doing, but he seemed to be fumbling with something.

A growing creak came from the doorway. A woman wearing a white nightgown appeared. Her eyes grew wide when she noticed the demon. "What are you doing here?" she cried, making an advance towards the demon and her baby. She abruptly stopped in her tracks. She was thrown against the wall. She cried out for help as she was slowly dragged up the wall and onto the ceiling. Once in the middle of the ceiling, she stopped. She struggled to be released from the invisible hold, but it wouldn't budge. Blood began to seep through her nightgown as she cried out in pain. For a few moments, she just screamed for help.

She was long dead before flames erupted around her.

I was shoved back into the Impala. The world spun around me and I could hear the faint calls of Uncle Dean trying to get my attention. Not soon enough, the world stopped moving and I could see his panicked face clearly.

"What the hell was that?" Uncle Dean asked. I realized that he had a strong grip on my shoulders as if I would fall over at any minute.

It took me a few seconds to register what he was asking. "Dad he…he had a vision," I gasped. "He…he knows which mother is going to die tonight."


	31. Stupidity

**Chapter XXXI - Stupidity**

"A vision," Grandpa repeated for what seemed like the millionth time. Once we got the motel room and got of affairs in order, Dad went on to explain the vision and, of course, he and Uncle Dean left me hanging to explain the whole mind-rape thing.

"Yes," Dad said, impatient, "I had a vision of the demon burning on the ceiling and Liz saw it because she was in my mind."

"And it's going to happen to this woman you met because…" Grandpa continued, again for the millionth time. I could understand that this wasn't fully sinking in. Finding out that your son and granddaughter have psychic powers is something that takes some time to get used to—but, knowing Grandpa, he'll probably never accept it.

"Because these things happen exactly the way I see them," Dad practically shouted.

"Yeah," Uncle Dean began, "these things started out as nightmares and now they're happening when their awake."

"I dunno. It's like the closer I get to anything involving the demon the stronger the visions get."

"And mine happen to come at random intervals. Not necessarily about the demon. I usually enter Dad's or Uncle Dean's minds with the occasional random person thrown into the mix."

"Alright, when were you going to tell me about this?" Grandpa demanded.

I stayed silent. This seemed like something Dad or Uncle Dean should answer. "We didn't know what it meant," Uncle Dean said.

"Alright, something like this happens to your brother and niece you call me."

Uncle Dean slammed the coffee cup that was previously in his hand down. "Call you? Are you kidding me?"

Grandpa's eyebrows furrowed at Uncle Dean's words. "Dad, I called you from Lawrence," he ranted on, his voice rising with every syllable. "Sam called you when I was dying. Getting you on the goddamn phone, I had a better chance of winning the lottery."

Uncle Dean's words were heavy in the air. No one so much as moved a muscle. When a phone buzzed from somewhere, no one even flinched or went to check whose phone it was. It was almost as if the room was made of quicksand and the only chance of survival we had was to not fight it.

"You're right," Grandpa admitted, his words seeming so minute compared to the density of the room right now. "Although I am not crazy about this new tone of yours, I'm sorry."

"Look guys," Dad said, "visions or no visions, we know that the demon is coming tonight and this family is going to go through the same hell we went through."

"No they're not," Grandpa promised. "No one is. Never again."

The phone buzzed again. It was apparently Dad's, since he fished it out of his pockets and answered it. "Hello?...Who is this?"

I immediately felt Dad's panic, which immediately turned to anger. I couldn't tell what suddenly got him so fumed, but I just know the feeling was overwhelming.

Oh, great. Yet another ability we are hiding from Grandpa. That plus the auras (which I still haven't told Dad or Uncle Dean about) was definitely going to bring on yet another awkward conversation between the four of us.

After a moment of silence on his end of the phone call, he muttered, "Meg." Confusion immediately settled in. That bitch was supposed to be dead. That last comment confused me: was that my mind thinking that or Dad's. God, this psychic thing is so confusing sometimes—well, mostly all the time. "Last time I saw you, you fell out of a window." A few more beats of silence… "Just your feelings? That was a seven story drop."

Dad sharply turned to face Grandpa. He had no idea why this Meg chick wanted to talk to him, but he was certainly not going to let it happen. "My dad?" he asked. "I dunno where he is."

Grandpa walked up so that he was right next to Dad. He extended his hand. Dad reluctantly handed the phone over to him. He really didn't want to do that, but he knew that Grandpa's stubbornness would reign out. Besides, whatever Meg wanted to talk to him about, surely it had to do with the demon we were hunting.

"This is John," Grandpa said into the phone, his voice completely monotone. Even his features didn't give him away. I tried to focus my mental energy in transferring my sixth sense (I guess I could call it that) away from Dad and towards him. When the only thing on the forefront of my mind was Dad's worried rant, I gave up. This controlling-my-abilities thing was pointless.

As he listened to Meg talk, Grandpa's features darkened for a second. "I'm here." Another few moments of silence as John listened to Meg. "Caleb!" he suddenly cried.

It was as if I crashed into a brick wall. I could feel everyone's emotions in the room right now: Dad's and Uncle Dean's confusion; John's worry and anger. I was bombarded with so many emotions that I couldn't even identify my own.

"You listen to me," Grandpa warned, "he doesn't have anything to do with this. You let him go." His irritation with Meg rang threw so hard that it almost completely blocked out Dad's and Uncle Dean's, making my own completely disappear.

_We know you have the Colt_. Meg's words reverberated through Grandpa's mind. He came up with a plan quickly—years of having to BS his way through life, I guess.

"I dunno what you're talking about," Grandpa said.

But, that was not the best plan. He forgot to factor in what Meg could do to Caleb. He heard a knife slashed through flesh. He heard Caleb gag for his last breath.

"Caleb," Grandpa called. "Caleb…CALEB!" Panic coursed through him. He was already plotting revenge against her. There was no way that John Winchester was going to let his friends die in vain.

_A war, huh_, Grandpa thought after listening to what Meg had to say. "I'm going to kill you, you know that right?"

Grandpa listened to Meg's rant. She was going to kill anyone who ever helped him…everyone he ever loved. Dad, Uncle Dean and I were immediately on his mind. No way was he going to allow us to become casualties of this, apparent, war—not like Jim and Caleb were.

He made his decision. To be honest, it happened quickly, he just couldn't face the fact that he had to admit it. "Okay, I'll bring you the Colt."

It was easy to tell that Dad and Uncle Dean didn't like the sound of that. But, Grandpa had an ace up his sleeve. There was no way he was giving up that gun—not while the demon who murdered his wife and caused his family all sort of hell was still out there.

Meg gave him directions to where she was. Grandpa immediately memorized them. "That's going to be about a day's drive to get there….That's impossible!" Meg told him to be there by midnight, or else. "I wouldn't get there in time and it's not like I can take a gun on a plane."

"You will get there," Meg growled, "or else your friends die, John. Oh, and make sure you come alone."

"Shit," Grandpa growled as he threw the phone down on the nearest bed.

"What the hell is going on, Dad?" Uncle Dean asked. Grandpa went on to explain how Meg knows about the Colt and will keep killing his friends unless he hands it over. He also told them his theory on what Meg actually is.

"You think she's a demon?" Dad questioned.

"I'm not certain, but that would explain why she fell out of a seven story building and survived. But, that doesn't really matter."

"What are you gonna do?"

"I'm going to Lincoln—alone."

Uncle Dean took a step forward towards Grandpa. "What?"

"It doesn't sound like I have a choice. If I don't go, a lot of people are gonna die—our friends are gonna die."

"Dad, the demon is gonna come tonight for Monica and her family," Dad noted. "We can't just hand over the gun over."

"Who said anything about handing it over?" Grandpa asked us. "Look, besides us and a couple of vampires, no one has seen the gun. No one else knows what it looks like."

"So what, are you gonna pick up a ringer at a pawn shop?" Uncle Dean asked, his tone implying that that would be a stupid idea.

Grandpa shrugged. "Antique store."

"You're gonna hand Meg a fake gun and hope she doesn't notice."

"As long as it's close, she wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"And for how long? What's gonna happen when she finds out?"

"I just…I just need to buy a few hours, that's all."

"You mean for Dean and me," Dad said.

Whoa, wait…since when wasn't I a part of this?

When Grandpa remained silent, Dad filled in the blanks. "You want us to stay here and kill this demon ourselves."

"No Sam. I want to stop losing the people we love. I want you to raise Liz right without this supernatural business. I want Dean to have a home." He turned away from us and stared out the window, but I was pretty sure he was focused on nothing other than his own thoughts. "I want Mary alive." When he turned back around, he had tears in his eyes. "I just want this to be over."

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

"So, what's the plan?" I asked Dad. Uncle Dean went to the antique store to find a look-alike Colt and Grandpa was over by his truck preparing weapons for his solo fight against Meg.

"You are going to stay here." His tone left no room for argument, which I firmly ignored.

"Oh, hell no!"

Dad continued as if I hadn't said anything. "You are going to salt all the windows and doors. You are going to have a gun and holy water on you at all times. There is no friggin' way that I am allowing you to go anywhere near that demon."

"But…Dad—"

"No buts, Liz, I'm serious."

"I have just as much of a right to help stop this thing as you and Uncle Dean do. You keep forgetting that this is my fight, too!"

"No, I haven't. I just don't want to have to worry about you. I want to kill this thing and get you back to a normal life."

"You were pissed when your dad excluded you from this fight originally. How do you think I feel about waiting here wondering if my family will even come back?"

Dad just looked at me, understanding in his eyes. "Liz, just…just stay here. I'll call you the moment that the demon is dead. Not a second later." Dad walked to the door and closed it behind him, leaving me alone in the dingy motel room.

I sighed deeply and walked over to my messenger bag. It's time that I initiated plan B.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

Uncle Dean came back a little while later. By then, I had the note I had written for Dad on the table and my bag packed. Call me a feminist, but there was no way I was going to sit back while the boys did all the work.

I snuck out of the motel room via the bathroom window. It was a tight squeeze, but I managed to wiggle my way out. The three of them were talking over by the Impala, about to trade the Colts. Grandpa's truck was parked on the other side of the parking lot. He had left it unlocked and I was able to climb into the back of the cab without them noticing.

I know that it was probably stupid of me to go with John. But, I thought about it, and I think it would be better to give John back-up rather than go with Dad and Uncle Dean. After all, they were the one with the gun that could kill anything.

A few minutes later, John climbed into the truck. He started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. I laid on the floorboards in the back, feeling rather on lying there instead of sitting normally on the seat. However, he wouldn't be able to see me from down here then up there.

I could tell that he was breaking all sorts of speed limits. I was practically pinned to the bottom of the seats. There were all sorts of metal bars and springs digging in my side, but I dared not move an inch. One false move and Grandpa could notice me.

Night fell around us, filling the truck with darkness. I had completely lost track of time hours ago. I just waited in stifling silence.

The car rolled to a complete stop for the first time since we left the motel. Grandpa stepped out of the truck with the fake Colt in hand. I cautiously sat up, my stiff muscles complaining about the sudden movement. Grandpa just stood there, checking through his pockets. I couldn't see what he had, but I was sure that it had to do with stopping Meg. He walked away and I followed his movements until he disappeared from view.

In my head, I counted to three minutes. I grabbed the bottle of holy water Dad gave me to protect myself in the motel room and grabbed my own gun, mostly for my sense of comfort since I know it would be worthless against Meg.

Well, here goes nothing.

I climbed out of the truck. Rain drizzled around me as I followed Grandpa's path. I rounded the corner he disappeared from.

I was inside one of the many buildings. It was old and rundown and I swore I heard a couple rats skirting away. I kept to the shadows as I searched for Grandpa. It was easy to spot him. He was on top of a platform, holding something above an opening to the water supply for the building.

He was making holy water, and a ton of it.

Once the ritual was recited, Grandpa dropped the rosary into the water. He closed the lid and headed back down towards the ground floor. I quickly ran into a room and hid behind the wall. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he sauntered past, his shoulders hunched over.

_I'm not going to let you die tonight_, I promised him, _Dad and Uncle Dean…they need you_.

Once he exited the building, I silently crept after him. I stood at the large doors and watched as he crossed the parking lot towards an abandoned barn. Once he was inside, I quickened my pace. Leaning against the door, I could hear what was going on but couldn't see. I was going to have to depend on my ears to let me know if John is in danger or not.

"John, you made it," the familiar voice of Meg called. "Too bad, really. I was hoping to kill more of your friends."

My stomach roiled just by her very voice. Or, maybe I was getting the same feeling I did when I first met her in Chicago (jeez, that feels like a million years ago). Maybe I have a psychic sense when it comes to demons. It's a pretty crappy radar since I feel like I'm about to throw up.

"Sorry to disappoint," Grandpa muttered. I couldn't tell by his voice what he was feeling. He was too damn good at masking his emotions when it comes to facing monsters. He barely puts his guard down around his family.

"I can see where your boys get their good looks," Meg comments. I was pretty sure that Grandpa rolled his eyes at that one. "Though, I have to admit, considering what they say about you, I figured you'd be…taller."

Grandpa remained silent. Considering that Dad is, like, six-foot-four, that was a blow to his ego. Although, I highly doubt he'd be fazed by something like that. Grandpa didn't seem like the type to worry about something like that.

"Well, aren't you just a chatty one," Meg cooed. "I figured that I would never be able to shut you up. Alright then, let's get down to business." Meg's shoes clanked against the cement as she approached Grandpa. I tightened my grip around the holy water bottle; ready to super-soak her at a moment's notice.

_Note to self: invest in a super-soaker._

"Where's the gun?" Meg asked, her voice suddenly menacing.

"If I give you the gun, how do I get out of here?" Grandpa questioned her. There he goes, covering all the bases. He wasn't going to allow Meg to pull a curve-ball on him.

"Well, if you are as good as they say you are, I'm pretty sure you would figure a way out."

"Maybe I'll just shoot you." I shook my head. That line never even works in the movies, how does he expect that to work in real life? Maybe Gramps has watched one too many westerns in his free time.

"Go ahead," Meg challenged. "It won't end anything. There's more where I came from."

I heard footsteps echo through the building. They weren't Grandpa's or Meg's. My stomach rolled again. It was another demon. I was so not prepared for this.

"Who the hell's that?" John asked about the newcomer.

"He's not nearly as much fun as I am," Meg answered, "I can tell you that." The footsteps stopped. The new arrival must have stopped next to Meg. Since I didn't hear any signs of struggling, I assumed that a fight hasn't broken out…yet. "So, I suggest you hand over the gun."

The silence lasted what seemed like eternity. I don't understand Grandpa's hesitation. Just hand over the fake Colt and let's make a break for it. As much as I would've liked to see some action, I'd still take the grounding for the rest of my natural life if it meant that I was at least here in case John actually needed help.

"NOW!" Meg shouted. She was definitely growing impatient with the lack of compliance from Grandpa. The silence was suffocating, since I had no idea what was going on. I was tempted to peak around the corner, but that would mean I would be caught. "So, this is the Colt?"

Well, one thing was for sure, Grandpa handed over the fake Colt. Now it's time to wait and see if they buy it or not.

"What do you think?" Meg asked the other demon (I'm guessing). Each second of silence felt like an eternity. I could hear my heart pounding out of my chest and it felt like every nerve in my body was going to explode.

The gunshot rang through the building. I almost screamed, but it got caught in my throat. I listened for the loud thump that was insured because one of the demons had shot Grandpa. It had to be that.

"What the hell? You shot me!" Meg shrieked. "I can't believe you just shot me!"

I fell in relief, and then it instantly turned back into panic. Grandpa may be alive, but that now means that the demons know that the Colt is a fake.

"It's a fake!" the other demon cried. He tossed the Colt aside. I could feel the tension in the air all the way outside. I considered going suicide bomber on their asses and douse them with holy water, buying Grandpa and I time to get out. But, judging by their voices, they would be out of my safe range in hitting them. They could kill me before I got five feet passed that door.

"You're dead, John!" Meg cried. "Your boys are dead. You granddaughter is dead."

"I never used the gun, how was I supposed to know it wouldn't work?" Grandpa asked, his voice oddly cool and even. His poker-face has not failed him so far in the game.

"I am _so_ not in the mood for this. I have just been shot!"

"Well, I guess you're lucky the gun wasn't real." Gramps did have a point there.

"That's funny, John. We are going to strip the flesh from your bones, but that was funny."

He needed to get out, now! Quickly, I grabbed my gun and fired it into the warehouse. I remembered Dad's rule when it came to me and guns: "_Shoot to scare_," he said, "_not to kill_." After the recoil, I ran like hell. I hoped Grandpa figured out that I was trying to give him a diversion.

I didn't look back to make sure he made a safe escape. "GO TO THE BUILDING ON YOUR LEFT!" I heard Grandpa shout. I allowed myself to feel relieved that he got out of there, and then I panicked. This was not over yet.

So, I changed the course and headed left. I crashed through the door and left it open for Grandpa. He was there moments later, locking the door behind him.

"Head to the basement," he ordered, pointing to the hatch towards the back of the room. By the time I got there, Meg and the other demon had broken down the door.

I fell down to the ground, not even bothering with the ladder. I was prepared for the landing, my ankles and knees hurt like hell, but I kept running and could only hope that John was behind me.

Either my ankles and knees hurt more than I thought or Grandpa was a really fast runner. He was nipping at my heels. I pumped faster, despite my joints protesting.

Suddenly, Grandpa wasn't behind me. I turned sharply around to see that the male demon hand him in a headlock. I immediately grabbed my holy water bottle and splashed it their way. All it did was land on Grandpa.

"The water main!" Grandpa cried as he struggled with the demon. That's remembered how he made a million-gallons of holy water. Next to me was a lever connected to piping. I pulled on it, hoping that it was part of the water main.

Water shot through the pipes. It hit Grandpa squarely in the back. The demon began to smoke and wither in pain. Grandpa was able to break free and crawl under the torrent of water.

"Come on," he commanded and the two of us continued running down the corridor until we reached a ladder that lead to the outside. He took the lead as we ran to the lot where he had parked his truck.

The tires were slashed.

"Fuck!" Grandpa cursed. He took a different route and I followed him. We rounded into a back alleyway and searched for an exit. There was no way out.

Grandpa pulled out his cell phone and began dialing a number. With a cry, he was sent flying towards the nearest wall. "Grandpa!" I cried, running towards him. I tried grabbing his arms but an invisible force kept them there.

"Now why in the hell aren't you moving?" the male demon asked. He was jerking his arm in my direction. I didn't feel a thing.

I was about to give some sort of snarky comment, but pain exploded from the back of my head. I felt myself begin to fall, but blackness engulfed me before I hit the ground.


	32. Escape

**Chapter XXXII - Escape**

Colors swirled around me as I tried to figure out what was going on. They were muted colors: mostly browns and tans, but blackness threatened around the edges. I had a huge headache and I felt like I was going to hurl. Why won't the world stop spinning?

I tried to get my surroundings to focus, but every time I came close they would just start moving again. It was almost as if I was on a never-ending Tilt-a-Whirl on steroids. God I hated that ride. I was more of a rollercoaster person, myself.

Instead of trying to orient myself, I tried to figure out what had happened before I ended up…wherever I am. I remember rain and a lot of running. Wait, no, it wasn't rain. It was a lot of water shooting out of the pipe. It burned someone. Wait, that was holy water and it burned a demon.

That's when I remembered everything: sneaking onto the truck with Grandpa, keeping watch while he gave up the Colt—but, it wasn't _the_ Colt, it was a fake—to Meg and some other demon guy and then running. It was a hell of a lot of running. I remember Grandpa being thrown up against the wall by an invisible and I tried to pull him down. The demon was pissed because he couldn't mentally attack me like he could Grandpa. Then I was hit over the head (at least, I assume I was hit over the head. It had hurt like a bitch!) and then…this.

Slowly, the world stopped spinning around me. I was on a hardwood floor, lying on my stomach while my arms were tied behind my back. Wait…why were my wrists bound? And my ankles? What is going on?

I looked around. I was in someone bedroom. It was a fairly nice bedroom, but the color scheme left a lot to be desired.

Okay, so the demons must have kidnapped Grandpa and me and took us here. We must be important, since they didn't kill us on the spot. That's gotta be something, right?

Wait! Grandpa! Where was he? Maybe he's dead and, for some odd reason, I am here. Or, maybe I'm dead and this is where I get to spend eternity: tied up in an ugly bedroom.

No, it couldn't be the latter. I think I'd realize that I was dead. First, I just need to find Grandpa (if he's even around here) and try to come up with a plan to get out of here.

I awkwardly dug through my pockets in search of my knife, but they were completely empty. I groaned inwardly. Of course they disarmed me!

I awkwardly flipped over so I was on my back. The world spun around me because of my jerky movements. It took a moment for it to settle. By then, my arms ached from taking so much pressure.

I was able to sit up without much difficulty. Again, I had to wait for the world to stop moving. If this whole dizzy spell keeps up, I'll be thirty before I get out of here.

Now came the challenge: standing up. I spread my hands out so the palms were semi-flat on the floor. Putting all my weight on my arms, I tried to get my feet almost directly under me. The plan was push off with my arms and hopefully keep my balance long enough to stand up.

I didn't even get my feet remotely close to under me. I toppled to the side with a thud. I groaned in pain because my shoulder took the blunt of the fall.

At least the Tilt-a-Whirl finally stopped moving.

I shifted back onto my back and attempted it a couple more times, both with the same result. But the last time was different. I fell onto the opposite side as the other attempts.

So, I decided to change my course of action. I flipped back onto my stomach. Using my head and shoulders as support, I shimmied my legs so that they were tucked underneath my stomach. Once there, I used my legs to sit up. Curling my toes, I pushed off onto my feet completely relying on momentum to carry me skyward. I had the right amount of momentum, but I lost my balance, again, and started to fall forwards. I turned my head to the side and completely landed on my cheek. However, it was still better than landing on my chin and nose.

So, yet again, I was back to square one.

I growled deeply as I turned back onto my back. I surveyed the furniture around me. There was a dresser to my left that had to be taller than me (or damn close) when I was standing up. I could open up the drawers and use those for stability, but they might not be able to hold my weight if—well, more like _when_—I topple over.

To my other side was a bed. It wasn't too high up. I strategized how this could work in my head and I figured that I legitly had nothing to lose.

So, I rolled over onto my stomach and got onto my knees. I faced the bed and leaned against it with my shoulders. I shimmied my shoulders against the bed and used my feet to push me up. It was hard going, but I eventually got to the point where everything from the hips up was on the bed.

On the bed was Grandpa. His wrists were tied to the headboard and he looked completely out of it. I cautiously stood up, making sure that I kept my balance the entire time. Once I was standing on my feet, I looked around the room. There was a door that had light escaping underneath it. I was willing to bet that led to some sort of hallway guarded by demons. At least, it makes sense that it would be demons since that's what we faced last night. At least, I hope it was last night. If I have been knocked out for more than a day, we might have a problem.

I hoped towards the door, having to use the wall a couple of times so that I would not fall and have to start this whole thing all over again. That was not going to happen.

I slowly leaned against the door so that I wouldn't make too much noise. Pressing an ear to it, I listened for any sounds that might be of some use. I heard nothing—absolutely nothing.

Turning around so that my back was to the door, I jiggled the knob to see if it was at least unlocked. But, of course, it was locked from the outside and I think a chair is up against it.

Grumbling to myself, I looked around the room in search of something that might help me get myself untied. For the most part, I saw nothing of use. Other than a few knick-knacks on the dresser, there was nothing sharp or even remotely sharp.

I hopped around the room. I dug through drawers and felt nothing remotely sharp. In one of the end tables by the bed, I found a stash of candles and a lighter—one of those tall ones that people use to start campfires.

I was going to burn the ropes off.

Quickly, I grabbed a small candle, like one you get at Yankee Candle, and the lighter. I placed the candle on the end table. It was easy to start the lighter, but it was a bitch to light the actual candle since I had to strain my neck to make sure that I lit the wick. It took me a few tries, but I eventually got it.

The smell of pine needles wafted around me. I carefully moved my hands closer to the flame. I couldn't get too close to the candle, in fear of burning my skin, but I had to get close enough to burn the ropes off.

The heat was excruciating and the burning was slow going. I had to force myself not to back away. There was an awful burning smell and I hoped it was the ropes, not my skin.

Once I thought the ropes were burned enough, I pulled my hands apart. The ropes broke free and it was such a relief to have my arms at my side again. I blew out the candle and surveyed my wrists. They were bright red and the stinging was agonizing. Those are definitely going to blister.

With my wrists free, I bent down and untied my ankles. Once I was in complete control of my limbs, I turned my attention back to the unconscious Grandpa on the bed. He hadn't moved a muscle.

I quickly undid the ropes around his wrists. But…then what? There was no way I could drag him out of here. He had to have at least a hundred and fifty pounds on me. Besides, the door was locked and, even if it wasn't, there would definitely be demons guarding us to make sure we didn't escape.

I tried waking him up. I shook his shoulders and called out his name. He didn't even twitch.

Maybe he was dead.

No, he couldn't be. I leaned my cheek against his mouth. When I felt his hot breath brush up against it, I relaxed a bit. At least he was still alive.

But, at the same time, we were still trapped in here.

I looked around the room. I noticed there was a window. Looking outside, I saw that there was a fire escape.

Well, that was something. But, still, there was no way I could drag Grandpa down those steps. Even if I got him out there (which I doubt I could), we'd most likely go tumbling down the stairs.

Muttering a few choice words towards the demons, I continued to look for a different escape route. Other than the door and the window, there was no other way to the outside world.

I could, however, leave Grandpa here and go to the nearest payphone and call for Dad and Uncle Dean. It would be so simple and I could be back in a flash. But, at the same time, I couldn't leave Grandpa here. If the demons came to check on us while I was gone, who knows what they would do to him.

I heard crashing on the other side of the door. I pressed an ear up against it so I could hear it better. There were sounds of struggle and, it might've been my imagination, but I swore I could hear Dad and Uncle Dean.

They came bursting through the door. Uncle Dean's eyes immediately settled on John as he rushed to his aid. I felt Dad's scrutinizing eyes on me. I couldn't look at him. I knew that, once this was all over and that we were out of harm's way, that I was a dead.

"He's alive," Uncle Dean said, relief flooding his voice. I could've told him that, but my throat didn't seem to be working. "Dad," he cried, shaking his jacket. "DAD!"

"I already tried that," I said. Dad glared at me as if I lost all my rights to speak.

"Wait," Dad said. "They could be possessed."

I gaped at him. What the hell did he mean by _possessed_?

"That's what a demon might say."

Dad pulled out a bottle of holy water and splashed me with it. I looked down. Nothing happened. He splashed Grandpa. Against, nothing happened.

On the bed, Grandpa started to twitch. He sighed deeply before asking, "Why are you splashing water on me?"

"Dad, are you okay?" Uncle Dean asked.

"They drugged me," Grandpa said. "Where's the Colt?"

I rolled my eyes. Typical Grandpa.

"It's safe," Dad said.

"Good boys," Grandpa muttered. "Good boys."

Working together, Dad and Uncle Dean wrapped Grandpa's arms around their shoulders and picked him up into the stand position.

"Go ahead of us," Dad said, his voice strained from Grandpa's added weight. "Splash everyone we see with the holy water. We can't be too safe."

We exited the bedroom. Two men—a fireman and a postman—came barging in, their eyes completely black.

"Jesus, already?" I cried, spraying them with holy water. They cringed and began to smoke. We doubled back into the bedroom. I slammed the door shut and grabbed Dad's emergency supply of salt from his bag. I quickly poured it in front of the door. The door began to rattle as the two demons tried to get in. I finished up the salt line and turned around. Dad and Uncle Dean already had Grandpa on the fire escape.

"Hurry, come on," Dad shouted. I hopped out the window and was about to follow them when he said. "Salt the windowsill."

I turned back around and poured a liberal amount down. I didn't wait around long enough to watch the possessed fireman break down the door with an axe.

We climbed down the fire escape. We kept up with the same order with me leading the way while Dad and Uncle Dean help Grandpa along. I walked in front of the truck, the holy water prepared in my hands.

Someone tackled me to the ground. My head bounced against the cement and I saw stars popping in front of my vision. On top of me was a different demon.

Can't we catch a break for once in our lives?

The demon balled his fist and punched me on the side of my face. The side of my face stung and I tasted blood from my split lip.

"HEY!" Dad shouted. He kicked the demon in the face. The demon didn't even flinch. Instead, he sent Dad flying into a car using his mental capabilities. I tried to use the distraction to wiggle my way out of the demon's hold, but it was just too strong.

Once Dad was taken care of, the demon turned his full attention on me. He continued to punch me until a shot echoed in the alleyway. The demon fell to the side, a deep, black hole on his temple.

I turned to see Uncle Dean with the smoking Colt in hand.

Dad and Uncle Dean ran over to me. Dad helped me stand up and the world swirled around me. I groaned deeply. I was back on the Tilt-a-whirl from Hell.

Uncle Dean looked down at the dead demon. "Come on," he said. I regained my balance and was able to walk on my own while Dad and Uncle Dean helped Grandpa cross the road and into the Impala.


	33. YellowEyes

_Author's Note: I can't believe I am already here! This is the last chapter of **Against it All**. But Liz's story doesn't end here. There will be a sequel of this called **Playing with Fire**. It follows Sam, Dean and Liz through season two. I had planned on lumping these two seasons together, but I think this way works best._

_So, I'd like to take a moment and thank all those who reviewed my story: cold kagome, Magical Faerie, AccioInspiration, FoxFire90, huge sg1 fan, EvilAngelTeamGabe, Soccerchick6, Pickle Paige, Alanna-Banana1987, person, kishe, maybe-moey don't wanna login (lol, nice), blank, clh, Indigo Nights (again, thanks for pointing out my mistake with the tulpa), shelleluver, Amy, misty-mornings, Ash Winchester, JensensLittleBadGirl, WiseGirl747, eddy6401, bearberry915, xelacy__. You all have given me the drive to work on this story. I hope you all stick with this series._

_So, here is the final chapter *sniffle*_

**Chapter XXXIII - Yellow-Eyes**

The moment we got out of dodge, I expected to get ripped a new one from Dad. The four of us sat in the Impala going God knows where. Grandpa sat next to me, sleeping off the effects of the drugs. Dad and Uncle Dean focused their entire attention on the road ahead.

"How's your face?" Dad asked, sounding awkward. I expected yelling—a lot of yelling. But, questioning me about my injuries…not so much.

"Uh, fine," I said. Nothing was broken and I had used the med kit that Uncle Dean kept in the Impala to clean up the blood and disinfect the wounds. The bleeding has stopped and I won't need stitches. "It'll just match my throat."

Silence followed my words. I waited for Dad's answer with a tight jaw and nostrils flaring. "Have you ever thought about what I'd do if I lost you? We've already lost your grandma and your mom—I can't lose you, too."

The question caught me off guard. The guilt dam broke and it filled my every nerve. "I—" I had to force my mouth to function, for my throat to make sound. "I'm sorry."

Dad sighed deeply. "I think we are beyond sorry at this point."

By nightfall, Uncle Dean found an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere. Wordlessly, Dad helped Grandpa into the cabin, leaving Uncle Dean and me with the bags.

As we slung bags over our shoulders, I couldn't help but look at Uncle Dean. "Thanks," I muttered.

"For what?" he asked, slamming the trunk shut once we had all the bags. I saw that two devil's traps were drawn in oil pencil on the trunk.

"You saved my life back there," I said, following him into the cabin.

"Yeah, well, Dad's gonna rip me a new one for using the Colt just like he's gonna rip you a new one for going with him. Trust me, if your dad was bad, wait until my dad sobers up. We are in for an ass kicking."

I just sighed. There was no way that Grandpa could do anything worse to me after what Dad said to me.

We walked inside. Dad had placed Grandpa in one of the two beds and proceeded to salt all the windows and doors.

Not knowing what to do, I walked across the room and just fiddled with my duffle. I wasn't actually doing anything productive. This was the only thing that I could do without having to deal with Dad.

"Hey Sam," Dean suddenly said, breaking the silence. There was sadness in his voice and I could immediately tell that this wasn't good—not that anything at the moment was good.

"Yeah," Dad said. If he was still angry about earlier (which I am damn sure he was), he didn't show it. Instead, he sounded concerned.

"You know that demon I shot today?" Uncle Dean muttered. Without even waiting for an answer from Dad, he said, "there was a person in there."

My heart wrenched. I forgot about the whole demons possess humans thing. In saving me, Uncle Dean had to kill a person.

"You didn't have any other choice," Dad said, his voice stronger and a tad more forceful.

"Yeah, I know. That isn't what's bothering me."

Dad paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to proceed from here. "Then what is?" he plainly asked.

"Killing that demon…killing Meg…I didn't even hesitate. The things I'm willing to do for you and Dad and Liz…it just, heh, it just scares me sometimes."

A sigh came from the shadows. Grandpa appeared next to Uncle Dean and said, "It shouldn't. You did good."

Something didn't seem right here. Uncle Dean sensed it too. "You're not mad? I used a bullet."

"Eh," Grandpa muttered, shoving it off. "It doesn't matter. Sam and I, we can get pretty obsessed. But you…you watch out for this family. You always have. And Liz…" something twisted in my gut when he said my name. Here comes the ass kicking that Uncle Dean mentioned earlier. "I have to thank you. If you hadn't been there with me when I faced those demons, I would be dead right now. You saved my life."

Okay, this confirmed it: something was with Grandpa and I didn't like it—not one ounce of it.

The wind picked up outside. The light above us flickered. Immediately, Grandpa headed to the window and looked outside. "Sammy, go salt the windows and doors."

"Already did," Dad said.

"Well, check them again."

Dad turned around and obeyed Grandpa's command.

"Dean, you got the gun?" Grandpa asked, turning to his eldest son.

"Yeah," Uncle Dean said.

"Hand it to me," Grandpa commanded, holding his hand out. He kept an eye outside, expecting something to pop out at any minute. I was curious as to what was going on. It couldn't be the demon. Dad and Uncle Dean killed it while Grandpa and I took care of things in Lincoln.

Uncle Dean looked down at the Colt. He looked up at me. I nodded. We were both on the same page about our theories on what was going on. "It won't work. The demon disappeared in Salvation when we shot at it."

Well, I guess that answers my question.

"It's me. I won't miss. Now, hurry."

He looked back down at the Colt and then back up at Grandpa. I slowly stepped back towards the table and grabbed the bottle of holy water that Dad left there.

"Son," Grandpa growled, a warning tone in his voice. "Hand me the gun."

Instead of complying, Uncle Dean backed up away from him. I went to stand next to him. Behind my back, I opened the water bottle, prepared for the moment all hell broke loose.

"Hand me the goddamn gun," Grandpa shouted. "What are you doing, Dean?"

"He'd be furious," Uncle Dean muttered.

Grandpa gave him a confused look. "What?"

"He'd be furious that I wasted a bullet. He'd be furious that Liz went with him to face Meg. He wouldn't be proud of us. He'd be tearing us apart." Uncle Dean cocked the gun and held it up so that it was eye level with Grandpa. "You're not my dad."

"Dean, it's me."

"I know my dad better than anyone and you ain't him."

"What the hell has gotten into you?"

"I should ask you the same thing."

Dad appeared next to us, completely shocked that the Colt was pointing at "Grandpa" and how I wasn't doing anything to stop him. "Dean, Liz, what the hell is going on?"

"Yeah, I'm wondering the same thing," "Grandpa" growled. "They're losing their minds."

"He's not Dad," Uncle Dean repeated.

"What?" Dad cried.

"We think he's possessed," I chimed in.

"I think he's been possessed since we rescued him."

"Don't listen to them, Sam."

"H-how do you guys know," Sam asked, his eyes still trained on "Grandpa."

"He's different," Uncle Dean said at the same time I said, "A psychic feeling."

"I do not have time for this! Sam, if you want to kill this demon, you gotta trust me."

Dad looked between us as if we were an interesting tennis match. Who was he going to believe? The man who raised him or his big brother and only daughter? His decision alone could mean the difference between life and death.

"No," Dad whispered. He inched towards Uncle Dean and me. I immediately noticed how Dad stood in front of me. "No."

"Fine," "Grandpa" said, not showing an ounce of being upset. "If you are so sure…go ahead. Kill me."

Of course he would play that card. He was making us doubt our assumptions. If it was the demon and we shot him, Grandpa and that thing would be dead. But, if we were wrong, then Grandpa would be dead and that God forsaken thing would still be out there.

"I thought so," Grandpa muttered. He blinked his eyes and his dark colored eyes were instant yellow. I felt bile rise to my throat.

Without a moment's hesitation, the demon sent Dad and Uncle Dean flying into the wall. I just stood there, staring up at him.

"I guess that rumor was right: you aren't affected by our mental attacks."

Ignoring him, I dove for the gun. My fingers brushed up against before the demon wrapped his fingers around my neck. "Good thing I can still physically hurt you." He shoved me and I flew into the table. It broke from under me and I crashed to the ground. My throat and neck screamed out in pain.

The demon leaned down and picked up the ground off the floor. He studied it for a moment before saying, "You know, this thing has been a pain."

"It's you, isn't it?" Dad asked, trying to mask the pain from his voice. "We've been looking for you for a long time."

"Well, you found me."

"But the holy water."

"You think something like that is going to affect me?"

I slowly regained my bearings. I sat up and surveyed the situation. How the hell was I supposed to get that gun away from the demon?

"I'm going to kill you," Dad growled.

The demon simply chuckled. "Won't that be a neat trick. In fact," he placed the gun on the table and stepped back. "Make the gun float to there you psychic boy."

This was my chance. I jumped into action and ran for the gun. At the last second, the demon extended his arm and shoved me back to where I started.

"Was I talking to you?" the demon asked me. "I get that your psychic girl, but I want to see your daddy do this neat trick. Now, if you move again, I will snap your neck."

The demon watched as Dad, fruitlessly, tried to move the gun with his mind. Deciding that I had nothing to lose, I focused all my mental energy on moving the gun. The demon expects Dad to be able to do something like this, then I should be able to as well.

"You know, this has been fun," the demon drawled, walking across the cabin towards Dean. "I could have killed you a hundred times today. But this," he whistled lowly, "this is worth the wait."

I pushed my mental energy harder. I was almost to the breaking point. Come on, come on, move dammit! Great, now I was mentally yelling at a gun. Real smooth, Liz.

"You know, your daddy's still in here," the demon continued, "trapped within his own meat suit. He says hi, by the way." The demon chuckled. "He's going to tear you apart. He's going to taste the iron in your blood."

"I swear…to God that…"

"That what? What are you and God gonna do to me? The way I look at it…" the demon leaned in closer to Uncle Dean. "This is justice."

I pushed myself harder. I gritted my teeth and imagined the Colt flying into my hands. There was a way I could do this—I had to do this. I had to do this for Grandma…I have to do this for Mom…I have to do this for the rest of us to, since this demon literally caused my family hell. I can't let this thing live for very much longer.

"You know, that little exorcism of yours…that was my daughter."

"Meg," Uncle Dean muttered.

"The one in the alley…that was my boy. Do you understand?"

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," Uncle Dean whispered.

"What? You're the only one who can have a family? You destroyed my children. How would you feel if I killed your family?" The demon chuckled threateningly. "Oh, that's right…I forgot. I did."

Uncle Dean gave the demon a murderous look. "But still," the demon continued, "two wrongs don't make a right."

"I just want to know why," Dad called. "Why'd you do it?"

"You mean why I killed you mom and pretty, little Jess?"

"Yeah."

"Why, isn't it obvious? You became a family man. You had a daughter, married the girl of your dreams. You were living the American dream. And you wanna know why I did it. They were getting in the way."

"What are you talking about?"

"My plans for you, Sammy," the demon growled. "You, and all the children like you, including your daughter over there."

"What?" I whispered. I lost concentration on trying to get the gun by the demon's words.

"Look, can you hurry this up?" Uncle Dean asked. "I really can't stand the monologue-ing."

The demon sharply turned back towards Uncle Dean. "Funny," he shouted. "But, that's part of your M.O., isn't it? Mask all that nasty pain—mask the truth."

I get what Uncle Dean was doing. He figured out what I was attempting and diverted the demon away from talking about his plans about Dad and me. He wanted me to concentrate on getting that gun even if it meant he had to take the verbal beating for it.

So, I amped up my psychic juice. I concentrated on the gun and nothing else. I imagined it floating towards me and landing right in my hand. Nothing else in the world mattered.

"Oh yeah," Uncle Dean said. "What's that?"

"You say you fight for this family, but, the truth is…they don't need you. Not like you need them. Sam, he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, that's more concern than he's ever shown you."

Uncle Dean glared at him. "I betcha your real proud of your kids. Oh wait, I forgot. I wasted them."

Suddenly, the Colt was in my hands. Its metal finish was smooth and cool against my palm. I couldn't believe it. It actually worked.

I immediately stood and cocked the gun. The demon turned around, mildly surprised that I actually got the gun.

"Well, it looks like my money was placed on the wrong Winchester. I must've made you a little too powerful…when I saved your life."

I just stood there, ignoring the demon's words. My hand was shaky and I couldn't will it to stop. I have shot a gun off, sure. Plenty of times. This was the first time, however, that I pointed one at a human being—Grandpa, I mean. God, the last thing I would consider this demon would be human.

"Well, aren't you going to shoot me?" the demon asked. In fact, he completely faced me and spread his arms wide. "Come on, you're a Winchester, aren't you? You are named after a gun. Now, why can't you just…shoot one off?"

"Don't do it, Liz," Dad shouted. "Don't shoot him."

"Aww, are you really going to listen to your daddy on this one? Don't you want me dead? I mean, I killed your grandma and your mother. Don't you want me to suffer because I tore your family apart?"

I did—I really did. And, I probably wouldn't hesitate to kill him…if he had used a different person. This was Grandpa, though. I didn't chance being grounded for eternity and Dad hating me just to turn around and kill him.

Dammit Liz, you know Grandpa would want you to pull the trigger. He'd be completely happy with dying if it meant that the son of a bitch that killed his wife would be going down with him.

Just pull the trigger, that's all it takes.

"Well Lizzie, what's it gonna be?"

But, I couldn't do it.

"Well, I may not be able to psychically move you. But, I can still move that gun."

I didn't understand what he was saying until the gun was jerked out of my hands. The cold, hard object struck me across the face and I tumbled back down onto the ground. The side of my face stung and I was pretty sure one of my wounds from earlier was bleeding again.

"Now, where was I?" the demon mused, placing the gun back down on the table. He obviously thought that I wouldn't try that stunt again—especially knowing that I really didn't have the guts to shoot him. "Oh, right," he turned back towards Uncle Dean, "I was going to do this."

Uncle Dean began to gag on nothing. He thrashed about. I understood what was going on. The demon was mentally killing him.

I immediately stood up, but the world spun around me and I toppled to the floor. I guess being hit in the head countless times over the last couple of days has taken its toll on me.

"No! Stop it!" Uncle Dean cried. "Dad, please don't let him kill me." Blood poured out of his mouth at an alarming rate. "Dad…"

The air around the room changed. Dad and Uncle Dean fell to the floor. I had no idea how I could tell, but I just knew that Grandpa had suppressed the demon and was now in full control of his body.

Dad didn't even hesitate. He scrambled up and dove for the gun. He pointed it right at Grandpa. However, when Grandpa turned around, his eyes were yellow again.

"Haven't we been over this before?" the demon asked. "If you kill me, you kill your daddy."

"Yeah," Dad said, "I got that."

He fired the gun. The supercharged bullet drove itself right into Grandpa's leg. White electricity coursed through him as he fell to the ground. Almost immediately, black smoke poured out of his mouth and disappeared.

"Shit," Dad shouted, running to aid his bleeding father. But there was also Uncle Dean who was now coming to from almost being choked to death by the demon. I slowly stood up and, despite being on the Tilt-a-Whirl again, I pushed myself forward only to fall flat on my face.

"Son of a bitch," Dad growled. He helped the semi-delirious Grandpa stand up. Grandpa muttered something about shooting him correctly as the two of them headed out of the cabin and towards the Impala.

I forced myself to stand up. On my two feet, I remained perfectly still until it felt like I was on solid ground. Once that happened, I ran over to Uncle Dean who was still completely out of it. I wrapped his arm around my shoulder and tried to stand up, but my legs gave out and I just fell next to him.

"Here," Dad said, taking Uncle Dean's arm away from me. "I've got Dean, just get yourself in the Impala. Okay?"

I nodded. I stood up and used various objects to get me across the room. As I walked down the stairs, I tripped and fell onto the hood of the Impala. I looked up to see Grandpa groaning in pain in the backseat. I assumed that Dad would want to put Uncle Dean in the back as well, so I climbed into the passenger seat—well, more like fell into it.

Dammit, why is everything so damn dark?

A few moments later, Dad appeared with a knocked out Uncle Dean. I awkwardly leaned towards the backseat and opened the door for him. He slid Uncle Dean into the seat without much problem. Dad ran to the driver's seat.

We were racing down the road before I knew what was going on (I think I blacked out for a second). I looked over at Dad who had his eyes glued to the road.

In the backseat, Grandpa sat, his face scrunched up from the pain. It must hurt like a bitch to be shot in the leg.

"Hold on," Dad said, pushing down harder onto the gas, "we're about ten minutes from the hospital."

"Dammit, why didn't you kill it?" Grandpa asked, ignoring what his son just said. It was hard to tell if he was talking to me or to Dad—maybe both of us. "I thought we saw eye to eye that killing this demon came first. Before me—before everything."

"No sir," Dad said. "Not before everything. Look, we still have the Colt—we still have one bullet left. We just need to start ov—"

I didn't know what hit us. The sound of metal crashing into metal—glass flying everywhere. I was jerked to the side and my head banged against something hard. Blackness engulfed me and then…nothing.

**-SPN- -SPN- -SPN-**

I was in a strange room—well, more like a strange void thing. Everything was white. It was hard to tell where the ceiling met the ground and if there were any walls or not. It was a strange place to be in. I almost felt like I was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Maybe I was dead.

No, that couldn't be right. I couldn't be dead. Could I? I tried to think back before I suddenly appeared in this place, but my mind went blank…I remember yelling…

"Liz…"

The voice sounded familiar. I whipped around and came face to face with my mother.

Wait, no. That can't be right. She's dead. Maybe I was dead. I couldn't even tell what was right and what was wrong anymore.

"Mom," I said, my voice not sounding quite my own, "what's going on?"

Mom smiled sadly. This was it. She was going to tell me that I was dead. But…no. She wouldn't be smiling if I was dead. She'd be sad, disappointed.

They say that, when you die, that you walk into a light. Maybe this was the light they were talking about. Maybe Mom was here to greet me at St. Peter's Gate or something.

I don't think I can go through with this. I can't die. No, Dad still thinks I'm a rotten daughter for disobeying him. That demon that killed Mom in the first place was still out there. I can't do this. No, I have to get back to the land of the living.

Mom cupped my face in her hands. She smiled down at me. "You're safe, Liz," she said. She leaned down and kissed my gently on my forehead. "You're safe."

**The End...For Now...**


	34. Authors Note

**An Entire Chapter Dedicated to a Ridiculous Author's Note**

****I don't like doing this, since I think that dedicating an entire chapter towards and author's note is pretty ridiculous, but many people requested this. Also, this is helping my procrastination in writing my college prep essay. I have the next installment **Playing with ****Fire** up and on the website. It starts off with a prologue that is sort of a "the road so far" deal for those that just need a little reminder on what is going on with my added character. I should have the actual beginning story posted sometime this week (I am forcing myself to finish my essay before I finish working on it).

So, in fewer words, **Playing with Fire **is up and ready for you all.

~~Julie~~

P.S. Reviews are popcorn to me (I prefer popcorn over candy).


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